Audax At Fidelis
by Stelmariana
Summary: A new prophecy prompts the Nine to worm their way into Hogwarts, protect Harry Potter, negotiate their lives around magic, and above all NEVER reveal their true identity. But more things are at stake than just the boy's life: forgotten creatures and deities stir as demigods return to the isles of modern Albion, and events reveal that the fate of magic itself may be in question.
1. Alea Jacta Est

**A/N: **

**I've always loved crossovers, especially if they involve Harry Potter. However, when it came to PJ/HP crossovers, I never really found one that I really liked. So I decided to write my own.**

**I'll only do the disclaimer once, because any more than that and it's annoying and pointless: I do not own Percy Jackson and the Olympians, nor do I own Harry Potter. (Duh.)**

**Chapter 1**

Professor Minerva McGonagall sipped her tea, thinking what a marvellous morning it was, and how fine it would be to take a stroll around the lake after breakfast, followed perhaps by an hour or two of reading in the sunny and blissfully quiet library of Hogwarts.

She thought that, but didn't really expect any of it to come to pass. The problem with being a teacher, you see, was that after over thirty years of doing the job, you tended to develop a sense of just how dramatically wrong you were to think _Excellent, there can't _possibly _be anything left to worry about right now_, when _ba__m!_, something worth pulling your hair out for magically appeared.

She ought not to find it surprising, Minerva usually thought dryly. This _was _a school of magic, after all. But she'd had a summer full of frantically gathering data concerning impending first years, calming hysterical house-elves after a lack-of-flour crisis, supervising the long process of removing all traces of the Triwizard Tournament (_when _was someone going to invent a spell that would just *_poof!*_ anything that was wrong with your life?) and, oh! Of course, that little matter of Lord Voldemort returning a couple of months ago, which caused the fractured remains of the Order of the Phoenix scrambling for wands, allies, or clothes, depending on whether Dumbledore's message had reached them in the middle of the night.

So in fact, Minerva McGonagall was thinking that her summer had been really quite poor, and nothing short of a Death Eater attack could make it any worse.

She was wrong.

Albus Dumbledore cleared his throat, and everyone present at the staff table turned to look at the headmaster.

"It may interest you to know that, following my failure to find a suitable Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Minister Cornelius Fudge has seen fit to appoint one of his choice - as indeed he is entitled to do if the headmaster did not succeed-"

"Oh, come off it, Albus!" Minerva interrupted, waving her teacup impatiently. "We all know perfectly well it wasn't your fault. The job's jinxed!"

Several of her colleagues nodded and murmured in agreement, but Dumbledore continued in his usual mild tones.

"Nevertheless, Cornelius has chosen someone as the new Defence teacher. Her name is Dolores Umbridge, formerly Senior Undersecretary to the Minister himself."

Minerva almost spat out her tea. After swallowing it with difficulty and scalding her tongue, she rasped out.

"Not that awful woman who keeps insisting that muggle-borns aren't worthy of attending Hogwarts?"

"Not the one who seems to be on a personal crusade to make glittery pink cats the national emblem?" Pomona Sprout, her usually kind face twisted in disgust.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in a way only those who knew him well - which Minerva did - could have spotted, and she could have sworn he looked amused.

"The very same." he confirmed. "She will arrive the day before term starts, and I trust you will all give her a very warm wel-"

"I hate that woman." Minerva muttered, making no effort to keep her voice down.

"A very warm welcome." Dumbledore repeated calmly. There definitely _was _a twinkle there, Minerva decided.

She quashed the juvenile urge to groan, and settled for primly setting her teacup down on the saucer, but stabbed her fruit salad with uncustomary venom. In doing so, Minerva noticed a slow grin spreading across Pomona's face. She almost got annoyed at her friend, too. What could possibly draw a smile when that godawful excuse for a woman was coming to teach at Hogwarts?

"What?" she snapped, more sharply than she'd intended.

The grin on the Herbology teacher's face widened.

"Oh, can you just imagine what the Weasley twins are going to do as soon as she tries anything? It won't be school anymore, it'll be anarchy."

Minerva considered the piece of apple speared onto her fork. She recalled all the incidents she'd unfortunately had to witness during the twins' time in the school. Dungbombs, Slipping Charms, Stalking Parrots (she _still_ teased Severus about that) and...oooh, that time with the broomstick jinxed to whack someone in the face as soon as they tried to mount it. A faint smile stretched her thin lips. Perhaps there was a bright side to this, and one that even, say, Trelawney and her hogwash prophecies couldn't ruin.

Actually, speaking of Trelawney...

The Divination teacher had, for once, deigned to descend from her lofty tower to breakfast in the company of mere mortals such as themselves. She had made a great show of carefully selecting which seat was least likely to suffer an Acromantula attack, spilled hot drinks or goodness knew what else, then picked at her food, loudly declaring that Mars was bright again, so it only made sense to eat a little more to gain strength for the oncoming battle.

The extra food didn't seem to do her much good. Sibyll was sitting rapt in her chair, eyes fixed straight ahead and utterly immobile. Minerva decided to make an effort to be civil.

"Sibyll, dear, do have a poached egg or two, they really are excellent."

"_The Dark Lord, once beaten, now come__,_" Trelawney declared in a harsh voice most unlike her usual misty tones.

"Yes, we know, dear. Please have an egg, you're looking awfully thin-"

_"__Once more for power, for blood, for none_

_Nine will react, and nine will return_

_Across the sea lest the world will churn_

_Magic will suffer, magic will rise_

_But to the stag, the storm, fire and death,_

_The might of darkness will meet its demise_

_United, as one, Olympian, eagle, lion and snake_

_Will decide for good or ill the magical fate."_

As soon as she fell silent, Trelawney's gaze focused once more, then fell to her plate, which she'd hardly touched. She picked up a fork and enthusiastically scooped up a couple of mouthfuls of porridge, unaware of all her colleagues' gazes fixed on her. The hall was utterly silent, barring Trelawney's slurping.

After a few moments of silence, Dumbledore finally cleared his throat.

"Sibyll," he called, calm as ever. "I wonder if you would join me for a minute or two; now, if you please. We can take a stroll around the lake, it will do you some good."

Trelawney looked thoroughly taken aback, but obediently followed the headmaster as he rose and exited the Great Hall. As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, the professors erupted into animated argument. Some were surprised, others disbelieving or scornful, and precisely one was impressed.

"Do you know," Minerva McGonagall said, her gaze still fixed on the huge wooden doors. "I think we may have actually witnessed a real prophecy. And you all know how I'm the last person who would ever say that."

Filius Flitwick snorted.

"Oh please, Minerva." he squeaked disapprovingly. "Those were just melodramatics."

"I'm not sure," Professor Sinistra ventured cautiously. "I've never heard her try to attract attention by using that voice before. And what she said about Mars being bright-"

Madam Hooch chuckled.

"Really, Augusta. I respect astrology as much as anyone," her tone suggested she didn't, "and you're the most entitled here to place any importance on it, but Sibyll's ramblings about Mars were a scam, it's all she ever does. I don't think she'd even know where to find it in the sky if we asked her."

"She probably thought it would have dramatic effect if she casually mentioned it a minute before going all rigid and and predicting doom." Professor Vector put in, shaking her head and sighing. "In fact when you think about it, the only tactic she's changed in sixteen years is her tone of voice."

"Dramatic effect is one way to put it." Pomona mumbled. "We're all lucky this didn't happen in the middle of term."

"I agree." Minerva said primly. "And as much as I do not think Divination is a solid basis for information or plans, I equally disapprove of speaking ill of my colleagues." She shot a sharp look at Hooch, who shrugged.

"Well, she's not exactly making herself a difficult target, is she?"

There were mumbled assents, but Minerva's sharp eyes switched to Severus, who was still drinking coffee and had yet to say anything. Knowing him, he would immediately show his scorn if he thought Trelawney was trying to attract attention. So if his silence was anything to go by, Minerva rather thought she had at least one other person who agreed with her.

"Well," Pomona said grimly, "with that pink hypocrite, an impending Gred and Forge attack and the fate of magic in question, this is starting to sound like an interesting year."

Minerva could only reluctantly agree.

0o0o0o0o0o0

Percy was on fire when Nico found him.

It wasn't his fault. The stupid lava wall was playing up, spitting drops of liquid-hot rock on his clothes as he raced across it. He yelped as his shirt started to singe and his back started to feel like it was being poked with white-hot roller-ball pens. He scrambled up twice as fast as he usually would have and dropped to the floor, rolling around several times in the dust, while Nico stuck his hands in his pockets and grinned. Percy still wasn't used to him smiling so often.

"New look, water boy?" the son of Hades called, for once looking amused despite his whole doom-and-gloom aura.

Percy muttered a string of Greek swearwords under his breath as he got up and roughly dusted himself down.

"That's _Lord_water boy to you, gothy." he replied grumpily. "And call me that again only if you really want an excuse for a fight."

"Same goes for you, but I'll keep that in mind." Nico answered easily. In the sunlight his skin was as pale as ever, but the haunted look he'd acquired in that jam-jar had disappeared entirely, and he'd put on enough weight since to differentiate him from those creepy skeletons he occasionally liked to summon. He even acted happier, which Percy was glad of. Being surrounded by his friends, sister, and people who thought he was awesome had really brought out a bit more of the light-hearted boy Percy had once known. Nico's new friend Will Solace also had had, Percy suspected, something to do with it.

"So...did you come here just to gloat, or do you actually have a reason for standing there looking gormless?"

Nico rolled his eyes.

"D'you know, very few people on this earth could get away with speaking to a prince of the Underworld like that, Jackson."

"Ooh, _prince _of the underworld now, are we? Do you get privileges, like good movie seats or discounts in Uncle Death's shopping mall?"

"Shut up." Nico muttered. "And actually, yes, I do have a reason. Chiron sent me to find you. He wants to see you, me and a few others at the Big House for a reason he didn't care to divulge."

Percy's heart sank. There was usually only one reason for a summons to the big House, and that was a quest. He couldn't imagine what new quest could possibly have come up after only a month since Gaea's defeat, but he couldn't help but feel it wasn't anything good. Of course, in this particular context, the word 'good' was thoroughly subjective. Quests hardly ever qualified as 'good'; more like 'exciting' or 'useful'. Maybe even 'fun'. But never 'good'. Ugh, he was starting to sound like Annabeth. Percy loved his girlfriend, but he had no wish to start sounding like he'd swallowed Daedalus' laptop.

"What for? Are you sure he didn't give any reason?"

Nico shrugged.

"Dunno, man. He really didn't give any details, but I suggest we hurry up, 'cause we're already late. You have _no_idea how many places someone can be when you're looking for them in this camp-"

"Fifty-two. Fifty-three, if you count the small alcove in Zeus' Fist."

Nico raised an eyebrow.

Percy shrugged.

"ADHD, remember? I bet everyone in this camp knows exactly the number of places they could hide. It's part of human survival instinct." He straightened briskly. "Could you just shadowtravel us there? Might save us some time."

Nico winced, like this was a subject that had been discussed numerous times and he was rapidly getting sick of.

"Can't." he grumbled, kicking a pebble. "Doctor's orders. Will says that if I try anything like that again for the next month I'll dissolve into a puddle of vaporous black goo."

"Aw, too bad. I have a feeling we'll get shouted at anyway, then."

Percy decided not to mention anything about Nico obeying Will's 'doctor' orders. It was extremely unusual for the son of Hades to be any kind of submissive, but the subject of Will Solace was still touchy, especially ever since Leo had said _"two stubborn, scrawny gits should get into even more trouble than one"_, which for some reason had made Nico mad.

So for once, Percy kept his mouth shut when he was supposed to and followed Nico up the hill to the Big House. They didn't say much - both were busy wondering why they were specifically being called upon.

In the basement, the two boys found Annabeth and Frank playing rock-paper-scissors (it didn't work too well: Annabeth could tell what Frank was going to do by reading his body language) with Piper and Hazel as an audience. Jason was polishing his new glasses as he talked to Leo, who was building a submarine out of Fonzies and pipe cleaners. Percy walked over to Annabeth and wrapped an arm around her, just as Frank shouted in triumph.

"Ha! Rock! Got you!"

Annabeth rolled her eyes.

"You distracted me, Seaweed Brain."

Percy smirked.

"Just by putting my arm round you? Then what will this do?"

He leaned forward and kissed her. She poked his ribs, right where a lava-blister had developed. Percy winced.

"Never leave your side unprotected." she whispered into his ear, and kissed him back.

There was an almighty _smack _and everyone pivoted to see Leo face-down on the ping-pong table. He looked up and glared at Percy and Annabeth. They had a hard time not laughing, because Leo with his face covered in crumbs was only slightly less intimidating than him humming "_Walking on Sunshine_" while polishing Festus.

"_Will _you two stop that? Dude, I already have to deal with Jason and Piper going gooey-eyed several times daily. D'you _know_ how many times I've tried to lock them in a room to let off all steam before they're allowed in public again?"

"That was _you_?" Piper interrupted, her voice shrill around the edges. Leo gave her a _duh _look.

"Can you honestly blame me?"

Piper opened her mouth to answer, but closed it again, blushing.

Frank put an arm round Hazel and grinned.

"Oh, don't you two start." Leo groaned.

Hazel smiled gently.

"Leo, I'm sure sure you'll get to see Calypso soon."

The son of Hephaestus spluttered.

"I'm not- this isn't- wait... Hang on, you can't just-"

"Zeus' firecrackers, I hope you're not going to be that lovey-dovey while I'm here. It's all so sickeningly sweet - I'm going to develop toothache." said a familiar girl's voice. The demigods whirled around as one.

Thalia Grace was leaning against the door frame, smirking.

"Thalia!" Jason whooped, engulfing his sister in a bear hug. The daughter of Zeus grinned, squeezing him back.

"Hey, little bro'," she said "Miss me?"

Jason scowled.

"You know, we're practically twins now, considering you spent most of your age difference with me as a tree."

"Ah, but once big sister, always big sister, Jason, darling." She glanced over to the others and waved. "Hey guys."

They all called out greetings, and Annabeth hugged her friend with just as much enthusiasm.

"I heard you kicked Gaea's big muddy ass," Thalia said, "Dad said that even the gods couldn't do much against her."

"It was all Leo," Piper said proudly, ruffling his black curls "he had it all figured out. He and Festus managed to lure Gaea into the air, while I... uh, sang her a lullaby, and Jason stopped her from going back down. At one point, Jason and I had to go back onto the ground, so Leo single-handedly caused this absolutely ginormous firestorm-"

"Which I couldn't have done if you hadn't charmed her into a coma." Leo mumbled.

"-and then, as an extra-special child of Hephaestus, lived to tell the tale!"

Thalia looked impressed, but Leo just looked embarrassed. And sad. No doubt the re-telling of his triumph over Gaea sharpened the pain of his failure to find Calypso, Percy thought.

"What are you doing here, Thal?" Percy asked, frowning. "Not that I'm not glad to see you, but ... aren't you supposed to be off with the Hunters of Artemis and - y'know, hunting? Preferably unfriendly monsters?"

Thalia shrugged, but her gaze saddened.

"Since Phoebe and the others were killed by Orion, there's been a considerable shift in the Huntresses' rank infrastructure." she informed them. "Lady Artemis has nominated some new officers to replace those who died, but Chiron asked to see me, so she gave me leave to come here."

"And I'm very glad you did," said another voice. Chiron the centaur/teacher/mentor/chief counsellor clip-clopped into the basement, wearing the upper half of a formal suit and the horse part of his body for once free of his TARDIS-like wheelchair. He took his position at the head of the ping pong table, looking at them all with his usual kind gaze, but there was something in his demeanour that told Percy he hadn't called them to organize a table-tennis tournament.

"Thank you all for coming so promptly, though some of you took your time", he glanced at Percy and Nico, who exchanged a _told you so_ look, "but we are once more in a delicate situation. Rachel Dare IM'd me about an hour ago, saying that she and the harpy Ella had found a particularly interesting prophecy. Rachel says that though the voice of Delphi is gone, she still has the spirit of the oracle inside her, and she can tell that this prophecy is on the verge of coming true... if it hasn't already."

He paused and took a scroll of paper from his pocket. The demigods were silent, partly out of respect for their mentor, but mostly out of dawning dread: another prophecy meant more conflict, more danger, and more lives on the line. Were the fates so cruel as to force a new impossible quest upon them when most campers had barely recovered from the last one?

Chiron unrolled the scroll and cleared his throat before speaking.

"She read it out to me, and these are its contents.

_The Dark Lord, once beaten, now come_

_Once more for power, for blood, for none_

_Nine will react, and nine will return_

_Across the sea lest the world will churn_

_Magic will suffer, magic will rise_

_But to the stag, the storm, fire and death,_

_The might of darkness will meet its demise_

_United, as one, Olympian, eagle, lion and snake_

_Will decide for good or ill the magical fate__.__"_

If the demigods had been taken aback beforehand, it was nothing compared to the utter confusion among them now. After several full seconds of total lack of noise, Annabeth spoke first.

"This Dark Lord... I've no idea who it could be - I mean, it sounds like it could be Hades." She glanced at Nico, who frowned but didn't disagree. "But the description is wrong. _Once beaten, now come_. That can't be him... And all this about magic - does it mean the Mist is in danger of disappearing?"

"And why did you call us, specifically?" Piper asked quietly, though her expression made it clear she feared she might already know.

Chiron sighed.

"This prophecy forces me to reveal to you what the gods would hide from you - from all demigods. They have kept it secret for decades, centuries even, because the knowledge would've destroyed any semblance of peace between nations, mortals and demigods. This secret was guarded all the more closely ever since the Second World War, which as you know involved some powerful demigods, because in those few years the world experienced a mere fraction of what it would suffer should this information be divulged."

Chiron paused. Leo's hands were tapping the table-top. Percy knew him well enough by now to know that it was Morse-code, but he had no idea what it said. _Hurry the hell up_, probably. If so, Percy agreed with the sentiment. The tension was rising as they all waited in utter silence for the centaur to reveal this life-changing secret.

Oblivious to the tension and growing annoyance of the assembled demigods, Chiron absently played with a stray ping-pong ball. His lined face was furrowed in worry, and his expression was somewhere else entirely.

"Ananke's spindle, I hope I'm doing the right thing..." he muttered. "But if certain of the gods found out, they would find even Tartarus too good for me."

Thalia _tsked_, irritated.

"Well you can't back down now, you've given most of it away." she said, crossing her arms.

Chiron nodded, sadly and slowly, as if Atlas' burden had suddenly taken up residence on his shoulders.

"I am well aware," he said gravely. "But in the millennia I have lived, I have never truly come to terms with how leadership and counselling in wartime also meant that at times, only you can make the decisions. Sometimes they are easy, other times not so. It can be a choice between the life of a loved one or that of a hundred innocent strangers. It can be having to choose whether to save a starving besieged city or preserve your own exhausted army. It can mean choosing between disease, famine or immediate death. In those cases, one can never truly make the right decision, because there is no 'right', and there is no 'wrong' to it. They're just decisions based on probability, and the answer is always to choose the option that seems slightly less destructive than the others. If there's one thing I know, it's that those choices live with you forever, and when you die, people will remember you by those decisions - whether you did the 'right' thing or not, whether you could have done any better. Whether you had any choice at all. Today, another choice has been set before me: do I tell you something that I swore to Zeus personally not to? Or do I ignore the prophecy, hoping that someone else will have heard it and will act on their own? Do I ask the gods for counsel? Do I choose the option I think best, and then hope that in the long term the gods of Olympus will recognize that it was the necessary course of action, and not a rash decision made on impulse in a moment of panic?"

He fell silent, while the demigods stared at him. For Percy's part, this was the first time he had ever heard Chiron open up so much. He loved the guy like almost like a father, or a four-legged part-horse uncle. But until that moment he had never really realized just how_old_ Chiron was. The centaur had trained heroes, fought wars, counselled great kings - of course he felt the burden of a warrior as much as other leaders did. In that moment, Percy pitied him. He felt bad for it, because an hour ago he never would have thought anyone in their right mind could pity Chiron, but right then and there, he did. If this was the first time Chiron had shared the pain of his burden as a military decision-maker, and it sure sounded like it, then Percy couldn't imagine just how heavy that burden must have become over the centuries. At least during their quests he and his friends had had each other to help make the tough choices. But Chiron had been alone, and that prompted Percy to promise himself to stand beside his old Classics teacher and defend his case, against the entire Olympian court if need be.

Chiron placed the flat of his hands on either side of the ping-pong ball and looked at each of them briefly in the eye. Finally, he spoke up again.

"Very well. For centuries, a wizarding world has been co-existing with our own. Its magic has always hidden wizards and witches from sight, much like the Mist does for us and monsters. Magic and the Mist are two different but similarly great forces, and both are the creations of Lady Hecate. Centuries ago, the goddess created her own race of people, people who would worship her and practice magic freely and for the good of all. In the beginning, the wizarding race were a blessing to humankind. Once their training was complete, wizards spread across the world, expanding magical knowledge, power, and the greatness of what wizards could achieve in every nation. Some reached China," he glanced at Frank, "and some reached America, well before the rest of the Europeans. Mortals came to know them as shamans, because in their tribes they acted as healers, oracles and wise-men." he was looking at Piper, who had Cherokee origins, as he said this.

"But as time went by, and mortals developed rumours about what magic could do, the approach to magic and wizards changed. Those who could use and control it started to get shunned, bullied, rejected as anomalies. Because magic is transferred genetically, whole families were thus exiled from their homes and regions. Of course, they had magic, so they could survive perfectly well without home comforts, and many wizards preferred to stay apart from mortals anyway, but they met hostility nearly everywhere, and the mortal governments of the time turned to official measures against them. Many were burned, though few were actual wizards, and many were executed for crimes they either had not committed or were not rightly crimes at all.

"The persecution of her people angered Hecate. It didn't help that for the past few hundred years humans had turned towards monotheism and nearly abandoned the notion of Greek gods except in art and fairy-tales. So a few centuries ago - I am being_deliberately _vague, here, Valdez," he said dryly to Leo, who was looking a bit confused at this unanticipated history lesson. "A few centuries ago, Hecate told her people to hide. She taught them new ways of using magic to completely shield their existence from mortals, and often the trick was to hide in plain sight. Because they were tired of being constantly under suspicion, and because they owed her their powers, the wizarding folk all around the world obeyed her. Time went by as time does, and now the world thinks all they have left of wizards are rumours, cheap imitations or pure myth, which is why we have such a clear but stereotypical idea of wizards and witches. They now co-exist in our world, breathe the same air and eat much the same food, but they have their own society, their own governments, schooling systems, currencies, health systems - even sports."

"Now, you must be wondering why the gods decided to keep it secret from all demigods. Even the children of Hecate don't know of the wizarding world's existence, but...why? After all, most demigods have powers of their own, they have a connection with Hecate through their godly parent, they also have a great creation of hers protecting them from detection. These were all pointed out to Hecate when she came to Zeus to ask him for support in her decision to hide wizards from the world, but she said that the demigods' knowledge of the wizarding world's existence would do more harm than good. The powerful, more ambitious and not necessarily...ah, _nice_ demigods would try to exploit magic and use it to their own advantage, causing huge damage on earth and possibly, she warned, to the gods themselves.

"The last bit especially convinced the gods, but even if it hadn't the Second World War certainly did. What happened in those years of wartime was in equal part due to demigod and wizard actions. Some of the mortals' leaders were very powerful demigods, whereas some wizards who turned dark operated within their own society, provoking as much damage to their world as the mortals and demigods did in ours. And all of that had happened _without _interaction between the two hidden communities. Can you imagine what would have happened if the Nazi demigods had gotten wind of ways to appear almost instantly on the other side of the planet? Or, for that matter, if American wizards had known sons of Poseidon could control the seas, and Zeus' children the sky?"

Chiron paused again. No-one said anything. There was no point, and besides, they were too stunned to speak.

"But those were military concerns, and in times of war. What concerned Hecate especially was normal, everyday life. Some wizards and witches are attracted to and have an unfortunate affinity with what many would call the Dark Arts. Those branches of magic delved into many different areas, including warfare, torture, and necromancy," Chiron shot a slightly apologetic glance at Nico, "but also healing, foretelling and protection - especially protection of their existence. In the dark ages, those particular brands of magic weren't considered especially dark - magic was purely a way of getting the things you needed, it didn't matter _how _you did it. But as the centuries turned, and the wizarding community increasingly stressed the moral use of magic, those types of magic were dubbed 'Dark', and severely frowned upon - if not banned completely. Some continued to use them, believing them to be more powerful than neutral and light magic, and that it gave them superiority over other wizards, not to mention mortals. Non-magical folk were to some wizards like rats are to humans: undesirable, pesky and thoroughly to be avoided. Over time, wizarding government systems banned the use of the Dark Arts completely; the occasional school still taught them to its students, but only the theory and always under strict regulations.

"Nevertheless, some wizards discovered a liking and ability for dark magic, and a few even succeeded in gaining enough power to challenge their government. Such was the case with Grindelwald, a wizard who turned dark and reached the peak of his power during the Second World War. He was defeated, but as so often proved before, history repeated itself. In the last fifty years, another dark wizard, more powerful than any other the world had seen before, rose to power in England and gathered armies full of magical beasts and dissatisfied magical folk who sympathized with his ideologies. Long story short, he was invincible for a time, and the atmosphere in the United Kingdom was as dark and horrible as it could get. Yet, fourteen years ago he was destroyed when his power backfired as he tried to eliminate a boy that had been prophesied to defeat him - or so everyone thought. This summer, about a month ago, this wizard returned. His name is Lord Voldemort."

Chiron fell silent. The nine demigods had yet to speak at all, and the silence stretched on for so long Percy's shell-shocked brain vaguely wondered if Kronos was up to his old tricks.

"I suppose it would be too much to hope for that this Dark dude is _not_, in fact, the guy from the prophecy Rachel and Ella found?" Leo asked suddenly, a pained but resigned expression on his impish features.

Annabeth shook her head.

"Oh, it's him." she said. "It's obvious. Rachel said this prophecy was already happening, or on the verge of doing so. How many dark wizards have returned in the past month?"

Leo groaned and Morse-tapped _crap _on the tabletop. Even Percy knew that much.

"But why hide it from us?" Percy asked. "It's not like we would declare war on wizards."

"No, but it's about containing the knowledge as much as possible. Weren't you listening? Have you forgotten Octavian?" Annabeth answered, a bit exasperated. "If news spread among demigods that a wizarding world existed and vice-versa, imagine what that would mean to the demigods and wizards who want power, war, or revenge. They would seek allies, and dabble in all sorts of magic which no-one but the gods should deal with. They'd cause so much collateral damage it would be sure to start another world war."

"Kind of like why the gods kept the Roman and Greek demigods separate for ages," Thalia remarked, examining the string of her bow distractedly. "To stop us from tearing each other apart."

"A wizarding world, though..." Annabeth murmured. "This magical force must be _really_ powerful, maybe even more than the Mist. I mean, even knowing that it exists now doesn't make me remember _anything_ that could have hinted at its existence. The Mist protects us as well, yeah, but it doesn't like, really _hide _us or anything. It just messes with mortals' minds."

"I think that may be what magic does too, actually." Hazel said thoughtfully. "Because when you think about it, how else could it work? It couldn't just make mortals _not _see it, that would be silly. And it doesn't sound like it makes them forget whatever they happen to see. Maybe it just...hides the wizards in plain sight, and then somehow persuades mortals that anything they do see is either unworthy of their attention, or pure hallucination."

Leo looked alarmed.

"Oi, lady - you saying we've been seeing wizarding stuff our whole lives and telling ourselves we're only imagining it?"

Piper laughed.

"Don't worry, Leo. I'm sure _you_ don't need telling that what you see is pure fiction. What was it you said you saw yesterday, again? '_A giant seaweed monster who wants to eat me?'_ . Turned out it was just Blackjack who'd fallen off the dock and got tangled in a forest of kelp."

Leo blushed as the others laughed.

"Yeah, yeah..." he muttered. "But I'd like to see how _you_ would react when a wet, slimy, shrieking thing with wings and four legs shoots out of the water and nearly runs you over."

Chiron cleared his throat.

"Uplifting as it is to see how you can take a life-changing revelation with humour," he said dryly, "perhaps we could get back on track? An immensely powerful dark wizard is planning to take over the UK, then probably Europe and the rest of the world, and all you daredevil demigods can do is make reference to ponderous, panicking pegasi!"

Leo grinned.

"Dude, you are the _king _of alliteration."

"Valdez! Focus!"

"I can't, I'm ADHD."

"So are we all, but we don't get distracted at every opportunity we get-"

"What has alliteration got to do with-?"

"Besides, Chiron's good, but he's not the _king_ of alliteration. I know someone in the Apollo cabin-"

"I wouldn't know, I'm dyslexic, but-"

"We're _all _dyslexic, Grace."

"I'm not!" Frank said proudly.

Chiron's expression was getting stormier by the second, and his eyes flashed in a way even Zeus would be proud of. Percy sympathized. The guy had just told them one of the most closely-guarded secrets of Olympus, and here were the most powerful demigods of the century, arguing over rhetorical features.

"GUYS!" he shouted, holding both arms up. "Unless we want Lord Vol-au-vent to take over the world, we have to pay attention to our head of camp!"

"Lord _Voldemort_, Percy Jackson." Chiron said wearily. "But thank you for your clairvoyance."

The others quieted down a bit, and since it was clear Chiron hadn't finished his _Discovery of the Century's Greatest Dangers _presentation, they got ready to listen again.

"This prophecy is of utmost importance," Chiron continued. "You all heard what it said: _Nine shall react__-_"

"_And nine shall return, across the sea lest the world will churn_." Annabeth completed, to nobody's surprise.

"Well we know one thing," Thalia muttered. "Whoever wrote this is _not _the oracle of Delphi, 'cause they suck at writing poetry."

"You think _we're_ the nine demigods, the... '_Olympian__' _that the prophecy's talking about?" Annabeth asked quietly.

Chiron looked grave and didn't answer, but his silence was all they needed.

Thalia groaned.

"I was afraid you were gonna say that."

"But we've just been on a quest!" Percy protested. "You said this prophecy was utterly important or whatever, but a month ago we defeated _Gaea_. How much more important can this Dark guy be? Why is it demigods have to send help when wizards have always managed on their own?"

Everyone looked at him, surprised at his outburst. Percy winced.

"Look, guys. I'm sorry. I know that sounded selfish, but we've only had a month of monster and giant-free time, and we're suddenly called upon to save a world we've never even heard of!"

Nico cleared is throat.

"Actually," he sounded apologetic, "I have."

Everybody's heads swivelled to look at the son of Hades. It was like watching a vocal tennis match, and even Chiron looked stunned.

"Heard of-?"

"Yes." Nico replied. "I spent a lot of time in the Underworld, as you all know, and I noticed a few weird things no-one had ever mentioned in Greek mythology - or Roman, come to that. Like, when the shades of the dead gathered to cross the Styx, sometimes I could hear Charon asking questions to some of them, and occasionally one turned back and, somehow, walked out. Charon wouldn't tell me what that was all about, so I...er," he looked vaguely uncomfortable, "sort of ambushed a shade who turned her back on him and tried to walk out. She was a ghost and everything," he assured them, "dead, you know. But she was still quite like a living person, because she looked what she must have looked like when she died, clothes and makeup and all, only grey and... well, ghost-like. I asked her what made her think she could leave the Underworld, and she got angry, saying it was her choice to go back, that she wanted to see her family and home again."

Nico rubbed his hair, frowning. The memory must have been bringing back the sheer weirdness of the event.

"Now that I think of it, pretty much all of the shades Charon talked to like that were angry or really scared, but anyway, _she_ got the anger prize. Shades aren't supposed to be loud, that's just the way it is, but she was yelling her her head off at me - literally, 'cause it looked like she'd been beheaded - and in the end I just let her go to save my ears. I figured she'd eventually realize she couldn't leave the Underworld then come back, and that Charon had just refused her because she didn't have an obol. So I sort of forgot about her and the few others I'd seen like that. But a few months ago, I saw the same thing again, and I asked Charon if he ever saw those dead people again. He said no, and I could tell he wasn't going to tell me any more about it, but one of the shades he'd spoken to started asking me all sorts of questions. Why was I still alive, was this really the world of the dead, was _he _dead, etc... I told him it was, and that yes he was, and he just _lost_ it, ranting on about how he was a great lord when he was alive and how he deserved better than this. I let him talk," Nico admitted with a shrug, "because it was a way of finding out whatever Charon wasn't telling me, and he was just spouting the most ridiculous things I'd ever heard of - like how a spell had backfired and killed him, but he'd used it for years and never hurt anyone, that it must have been his wand that went faulty..."

Chiron was utterly still, staring at Nico so blankly Percy wondered if he'd been anywhere near Medusa's head lately.

Nico looked uncomfortable again.

"I, er...didn't think he was entirely sane, so I just left him there to deal with it - after all, everyone does - and kinda forgot about it all again. Even a son of Hades shouldn't know everything about the Underworld, it's only fair in a way. But now," Nico concluded, "I think back and realize that he must have been a wizard, that all those angry or scared shades must've been magical, because they were just so much more substantial than regular ghosts, and quite frankly bizarre. There was no way they were ordinary mortals. Even dead demigods don't look and act like they did. Which means," he said more seriously, "that wizards must have a different concept of death. Those shades who decided to walk out of the Underworld - and succeeded, for all we know - chose to come back to the world of the living as ghosts. I'm sure of it. And that puts this whole prophecy thing in a different perspective, because-"

"Because this Lord Voldemort was destroyed fourteen years ago, but you've never felt his death, have you?" Annabeth said, paling slightly.

Nico nodded.

"I never knew wizards existed," Nico said, looking at Chiron, who was still impersonating the Athena Parthenos in its immobility. "But a dark lord, especially one as powerful as you say, would have had some sort of effect on me, and Bianca. We were both really young and stuck in that casino when it happened, but even then I remember we sometimes felt twinges that we later realized were signs that someone important or close to us had died." He fidgeted with the Stygian iron blade at his side. "I'm not saying this Voldemort was close to me or anything, but _that_ much power snuffing out just does _not _go unnoticed in the Underworld, nor by its children. He didn't die, but by all laws of nature and probably magic, he should have. Guys," he said, looking at them all in turn, "we're somehow looking at an immortal human."

Thalia snorted, sounding disbelieving even after Nico's unexpected anecdote.

"An immortal human?" she said. "Whoever heard of such a thing? You can only be immortal if born some sort of nature spirit or made so by the gods."

"Which is why," Chiron finally joined in, "we must ask ourselves, can the wizarding world truly defeat this Dark Lord by itself? Will the demigods, who have extensive experience in fighting both monsters and immortals, leave them to this fate? And if wizards cannot prove up to the task, must we wait until Lord Voldemort gains his full strength and then proceeds to take over the international wizarding worlds, while we stay here, climbing the lava wall and living in the muted fear that one day Voldemort may discover the existence of demigods and Olympus?"

Once again, silence descended as the demigods took this in. Chiron always had a way of rationalizing things. Usually, that skill made things clearer and more straightforward to decide upon, but this time it only opened a hundred other doors, each filled with so many questions and 'if' situations that the whole Gaea affair seemed quite familiar in its way. After all, they had known exactly who she was, _what_ she was, who her main agents were, some elements of her complicated plans - and especially, they'd had occasional help from the gods and other anti-Gaea immortals.

This was exactly what Annabeth pointed out to Chiron.

"So in effect, you'd be sending us into a desert with a toothbrush each and a towel to share." she said.

Jason grinned.

"Well, to be fair, if he did do that, Percy could summon up water, Nico could provide shade, Thalia could hunt us some snakes to eat, and I could make a breeze. Frank and Hazel would be perfect bodyguards too, and Leo and Annabeth together could figure out a machine out of there in about an hour."

"Let's please not give the gods any ideas, though." Percy mumbled, thinking of Tartarus. "I've had enough of waterless wastelands for a lifetime. Two lifetimes. No, ten."

"We have literally no idea what this wizarding world is like, how it works, how we would fit in if at all, and how real wizards would receive us." Annabeth went on, ignoring them.

Piper slapped her forehead, as though she'd had a brainwave.

"I don't even know why we're discussing this!" she cried. "How on earth are we supposed to help the wizards defeat Voldemort while trying to keep a low profile when _we're not wizards ourselves_? It'd be like trying to attack Persephone in her own palace while pretending to be dead like all her other servants!"

"This may sound uncooperative, but that _has _actually been attempted," Frank mumbled.

"Not helping, Zhang!"

"Sorry."

Hazel huffed.

"Don't apologize, Frank. Actually, I can't believe we're discussing this so much either, but for entirely different reasons. There has been a _prophecy__,_" she pointed out clearly. "That means it _cannot_ be ignored, nor changed, nor interpreted too hastily. If we are the nine demigods it's talking about, then we have no choice. We've _got _to help the wizards."

"You're only saying that because you sympathize with other people who have magic," Leo said, frowning. "I mean, you use the Mist and all, but it's still a super-mysterious creation of Hecate's."

Hazel looked slightly hurt.

"Leo, I think we should help because it's our duty as much as a matter of compassion!"

"Spoken like a Roman." Thalia said gloomily, picking at her nails, painted black and silver that day.

"What's wrong with Roman?" Franks asked testily.

"Nothing. Except you tend to confuse duty and moral obligation. Loyalty and stupidity. Not to mention orders and friendly advice. That sort of thing."

Hazel was fuming and about to retort sharply, but Annabeth stepped in hastily with her hands held out for peace.

"Guys, please don't destroy in one afternoon what we fought to achieve for over a year."

Hazel grudgingly remained silent, while Frank looped an arm around her, glaring at Thalia, who shrugged and made an _It's true, mate _gesture.

Chiron heaved a long-suffering sigh and rubbed his temples.

"Going back to Piper's earlier point," he said tiredly. "Yes, it's true you're not wizards, but you're not the only ones aware of the prophecy so far. Rachel told me as soon as she realized it was important, but Ella doesn't know anything of its significance, so I contacted the gods of Olympus. They urge us to take the decision for ourselves, but insisted Hecate should help, since it was her world in danger. The goddess has agreed to bless you with the gift of magic should you decide to help. You would retain your original powers, of course, but you would also be able to use magic in the same way as wizards."

Piper looked like she was dying to say something, so Chiron gestured for her to speak.

"But _how_, exactly, are we going to help?" she asked. "We can't just get there on the _Argo II_ and hang out until Lord Voldemort launches an attack. We'd be seen. We'd be questioned. It's way too risky."

"Says the girl who participated in some of the riskiest things in history since Zeus discovered lightning bolts." Jason muttered under his breath. Piper elbowed him in the ribs.

"I was getting to that." Chiron replied. "Despite the utter secrecy around the matter, some people, including myself, have knowledge of the wizarding world. These are few and far between, but we do keep tabs on some aspects of it. The initial rise of Voldemort we followed closely, for instance. We learned that the boy Voldemort tried to destroy after murdering his parents all those years ago is still alive. He's currently studying at the best school of magic in the world, Hogwarts."

Leo sniggered. Everyone else looked at him blankly.

"Oh, come on," he said, still laughing. "Get it, anyone? Hogwarts? Like a pig's skin condition?" He laughed again, clearly finding the name hilarious. Percy would have as well, but Annabeth was giving him the _don't you dare_ glare.

Piper raised an eyebrow.

"Leo Valdez, you are _so _immature." she said loftily.

"Lady, I _invented_ immature! Girls luuurve immature! I'm so immature they always want to kiss me and call me babe!"

"Watch out, or I'll do just that." Thalia said darkly. "And you should know, among the huntresses, a 'kiss' means something to do with these lovely, sharp, knives." She held up her dagger, her eyes glinting.

Leo gulped.

"I'm...all right, thanks. Keep your kisses, I'll manage."

"Yes, getting back to Hogwarts," Chiron said hurriedly before Thalia could retort, "the boy's name is Harry Potter. The entire future of the wizarding world depends on him. If you were to help the wizards, your first and foremost task would be to attend Hogwarts and protect him from any harm. The headmaster at Hogwarts is reportedly the best and wisest wizard in the world. Persuade him to give you a place in the school - Miss McLean, I believe your powers will be most useful if he proves difficult to convince - and attend classes, study and make friends like you would in any school."

"So not much, then." Percy joked, but his brain was racing. This Harry Potter kid, the key to saving the wizarding world? "So... we'd just be really elaborate bodyguards?"

Annabeth smirked.

"Don't sound so disappointed, Seaweed Brain. The fate of the world can't always depend on you or Jason."

"I'm not disappointed!" he protested. "If anything I'm relieved, but I don't understand-"

"Story of my life, yours, and everyone else's in this room." Nico commented idly.

"-I don't understand why so many of us have to protect this Potter kid when we should be... I dunno, fighting Voldemort's minions or something. Nine demigod bodyguards seems a bit much, especially if he survived a murder attack by the darkest lunatic in history when he was, like, tiny."

Chiron nodded.

"I agree, Percy, but the situation is almost entirely different now. Voldemort has returned - that is a fact, not a possibility - stronger and better prepared than before. He used dark magic and an even darker spell to regain his body, absorbing some of the boy's blood as insurance. His past weakness has become his strength. There is next to no safety left for Harry Potter, because while the boy lives, so does Voldemort, yet he is a constant threat to the Dark Lord, because of his special connection to him."

"Connection?" Percy asked, frowning. "They're related?"

Chiron waved a hand around impatiently.

"Everyone is more or less related in the wizarding world-" ("Ew," muttered Thalia, forgetting her own origins.) "-but Harry Potter has a special connection with Voldemort because the boy absorbed some of his powers when he was destroyed. Don't ask, I have no idea how. Ask the lady Hecate if you see her. But the point is, their minds are connected, a bit like-"

"A bit like the empathy link between me and Grover?" Percy guessed.

Chiron hesitated.

"In the vaguest possible way, yes, but-"

"Like me and Gaea, then." Leo suggested. "I witnessed her murder my mom, and during this whole Great Prophecy Quest thing it was me she often looked for in the first few months."

"And you defeated her in the end," Piper said, smiling a bit. "Dare I hope that could be a good omen for the wizarding world?"

"Yes, yes, if you like, similar to Leo and Gaea. But as I was saying," Chiron pressed on, "the point is that their minds are connected: sometimes Harry gets flashes of Voldemort's moods or thoughts. It's only a matter of time before the Dark Lord realizes what's happening, and when he does, Harry will be in even greater danger. His safety is _essential_," Chiron slapped the table for emphasis, "in ensuring any positive future for the wizarding world."

"Gh." said Thalia, tilting her head back until it butted against the wall. She sounded resigned. "So we don't really have a choice in the matter. Hazel's right: we can't ignore it, and if we somehow do, we'll never forgive ourselves."

"There is always a choice." Chiron said gravely. "And in this case, the choice is yours. My role was to guide you and give you an explanation. You all know the facts. Choose. But one things must be stressed," he warned, eyeing each of them in turn, "nine must go, or nine must stay. You are the nine, that much is clear. If but one of you chooses not to aid the wizarding world, the other eight cannot go alone."

"Eight is hardly alone." Leo muttered, crossing his arms, but no-one argued with the old centaur.

As for Percy, he was going through he same agonizing choice as the others. Study with Annabeth in New York, or fight and risk your life again? Help thousands of innocent people he'd never met in a country he'd never been to, or stay and protect his home? Get bored in maths, or get bored in astronomy or whatever they taught at Hogwarts? Help Harry Potter, the light of the wizarding world, or make daisy chains with dryads?

He looked at Annabeth. She had that look he knew so well and loved. _As long as we're together__,_ it said, _we can do anything__._

Percy shrugged, then nonchalantly grinned and put an arm around her waist.

"Well, I don't know about you guys," he said, "but we're in!"

Piper and Jason exchanged one final look and nodded as one.

"Count us in, too."

Hazel and Frank smiled slightly, holding hands.

"You're not going anywhere without us," Hazel said sweetly.

Leo whooped and punched the air.

"Yeah! Let's kick some Dark Lord butt! Team Leo is IN, baby!"

Nico and Thalia rolled their eyes, then looked at each other.

"Well," Nico said finally, "If Camp Half-Blood is my home now, and this Dark Lord is threatening it even partially, I'm going as well. Besides," he added, his dark eyes glittering dangerously. "I want to meet the guy who managed to escape my dad."

Thalia smirked.

"And I'm not letting my baby brother getting all the glory again." she declared.

Chiron's mouth stretched into a wide smile, and his chest puffed out with pride.

"I never doubted any of you!" he said. "I realize that you need rest and time to recover from last month's quest, but prophecies always have a knack of arriving at exactly the wrong time."

"Or the right time, depending on how you look at it." Hazel remarked. "Rachel did discover it just in time to warn us, didn't she? Summer's nearly over."

"Quite. And as for rest, I wouldn't worry. Despite being all about magic, Hogwarts is first and foremost a school. Attending classes will be fruitcake compared to what you've all had to deal with lately."

Percy groaned.

"Oh, man, I'd forgotten about that. How are we supposed to study magic if we know strictly nothing about it?"

"We'll do what every person does when they breach a new subject, Percy." Annabeth said calmly. "We'll study."

"How? We can barely read in English." Percy grumbled.

"We'll manage." She squeezed his hand reassuringly, and Percy felt slightly embarrassed that, of all things, _studying_ was the thing he was worrying about at the moment.

"The goddess Hecate will provide means of transport for you to reach Hogwarts," Chiron said, back to business. "Once there, ask to see the headmaster, then somehow convince him to take you in. Locate Harry Potter and protect him at all costs. Any signs of activity from Voldemort, report to me. I will give you enough drachmas for you to IM the camp as often as you like, and if there are any signs of a battle, contact us before anything else. Some of the gods know what you are going through, and will deal with any issues you report back to them quickly and discreetly."

Percy grinned.

"The gods? Discreet? That I have yet to see."

Annabeth nudged him.

"Careful." she muttered.

"What? It's a compliment!"

"Well, don't shout it any louder, 'cause the gods will take it as a challenge, dude." Leo says wisely. "It's like when Piper once said Well, at least we're safe, aren't we? Then _thwack_, Sciron's arrow nearly impales her braids."

Piper flapped her hands around. "Don't!" she cried. "I keep wanting to bury my head in the sand every time I think of that!"

"While you are in the wizarding world, you must be on your guard at all times," Chiron warned. "You cannot afford to make mistakes - one of them could result in the harm or death of Harry Potter. You must ally yourselves to him. Befriend him, but don't get too close: blowing your cover would be the most disastrous thing that could happen. Is that clear?"

They all nodded, but Leo cleared his throat.

"Wouldn't that be the death of Harry Potter? The most disastrous thing that could happen, I mean."

Chiron shook his head slightly.

"As important as his safety is, that is primarily the headmaster's responsibility, and Harry's own. You must guard him, yes, but only so far as you can. Do not make it obvious you are protecting him, stay at a distance. Befriend his friends, make allies of them. Get to know his enemies if he has any at school, make arrangements with them. Who knows? Maybe even turn their relations to your advantage. You are all old enough and certainly experienced enough to know the importance of reliable allies and sound deals. I am in part entrusting you with the safety of Harry Potter, but I am also setting you the task of establishing a net of spies, informers, friends and reinforcements. You will no doubt meet relatives of Ancient Greece and Rome creatures - see if they can be of any help. Use your demigod powers as much as you like, but - and this goes without saying - _never _make them obvious. Keep a low profile."

Chiron looked as grave as ever.

"War is coming. That also is clear. Lord Voldemort will not be defeated without battles on a large scale. You must prepare your surroundings as well as yourselves. Learn to defend yourselves using magic as well as practising your regular powers - take full advantage of the excellent education you will get be getting at Hogwarts."

The nine demigods glanced around at each other, some gulping, others unnerved at this new and highly strategic approach to war. Thalia, Nico and Frank looked impassive, but Percy knew them well enough to know that they too were aware of the magnitude of the task set to them.

"Well, I've always wanted to be a spy." Leo said after a few moments, grinning. "Guess throwing us in the deep is the only way we'll learn, isn't it?"

Percy snorted. "That's one way to put it. But guys, this is huge. It's not a quest, it's a real, top-secret mission. This time, we won't have someone or something to look for and bring back – and we certainly won't have as much help as we've had during quests so far. This… we're not prepared for this; it's like the Ancient Greek version of the CIA."

Annabeth's eyebrows rose.

"Percy Jackson, taking something seriously from the beginning? Well, now I've seen everything."

"Ah, don't worry guys." Jason said shrugging, his mouth stretching into a smile. "We can deal with the difficulties as they come; for now, all we need to do is concentrate on the first thing: infiltrate Hogwarts. And I have yet to see a day when the nine of us together have failed to achieve what we wanted."

Hazel nodded. "He's right." She said solemnly, holding Frank's hand. "We were the Seven of the Great Prophecy, and Thalia and Nico are children of the Zeus and Hades. Together, there's nothing we can't do."

Nico winced slightly at her words. Thalia noticed.

"Don't worry, Nico. What Hazel's trying to say is that no matter what, we have each other's back. We're all allowed to be something of a loner," she said, smiling in a way that contrasted greatly with her usual tough attitude, "but only as long as someone's there to pull us out of trouble."

Chiron was looking proudly at them all.

"It gladdens an old centaur's heart to see such solidarity," he declared. "This is what camp Half-Blood was founded for. It is a haven to permit demigods to train to be heroes, certainly, but also to form ties of friendship stronger than magic, longer-lasting than life, and deeper than the roots of Gaea. It saddens me to know how, but I believe that through your individual adventures you have already discovered how the true keys to success are trust, and friendship. Without them, there are no alliances, no victories, nothing to be gained."

Hazel, Annabeth and Piper, best friends since the whole Gaea business, looked at each other knowingly. The three were virtually inseparable now, and Percy knew their ties of friendship reached further than he, ignorant male that he was, could ever fathom. Much of it, he knew, was due to their occasionally unsettling ability to communicate with looks and tiny signals alone. Such attempts made between Percy, Jason, Frank or the others floundered completely unless one of the girls was there to translate. Percy was getting slightly better at interpreting Annabeth's body language, but he had seen entirely non-verbal conversations between her and Piper that had often ended up with the two girls working in harmony, and a very confused Percy. He sighed a bit wistfully. It'd be great to have communication skills similar to those of girls – very useful for battlefields and arguments.

"That's settled, then." Percy said. "So. How are we getting to Hogwarts?"


	2. In Ictu Oculi

**Chapter 2**

"Are you serious?" Percy asked.

He and his friends were standing on Camp Half-Blood Hill, which acted as a border between the mortal world and the demigods' safe haven. An hour had passed since Chiron had dismissed them, wishing them all the luck in the world, and most of them had spent the time packing or saying their goodbyes to their friends. The Romans had left a few days ago, but Hazel and Frank had stayed behind, wanting to get to know Camp Half-Blood better and see what all the fuss was about_._

Packing had been a fairly quick affair, Chiron having told them not to take any bags or anything other than strictly necessary, but instead to conceal any important items on their persons. The only one with a bag was Thalia, but seeing as it was actually her bow and quiver in disguise, no-one challenged her over it. Annabeth had her baseball cap screwed onto her head (it had started working again, now that the gods were slightly less maddened by pain), Leo had his tool-belt, Frank had hidden various small weapons on himself, and Hazel was empty-handed - or, at least, seemed to be. Percy had Riptide, obviously, Nico his Stygian iron sword, Jason his own blade, and Piper her dagger. Percy hoped that the Mist still worked in the wizarding world, 'cause walking around with swords and knives at your side would get kind of awkward if it didn't.

Percy was the only one so far who had voiced any reaction to what, or rather who, was standing before them - the others were too taken aback to speak. Which, knowing Leo and his unflappable readiness to joke at absolutely anything, was saying something.

The goddess Hecate, for it was she, stared calmly at Percy, her blond hair gently swaying in a non-existent breeze. It was pretty much the first time Percy was meeting her, since he'd been mostly unconscious or busy reeling around in pain on the House of Hades' floor the last time she'd been near the demigods, but his hazy memories corresponded exactly to how she looked now: tall, impassive, and mysterious.

"What surprises you, son of Poseidon?" she asked. Her weasel scampered up her arm to curl around her neck and settled her head at the base of the goddess' throat. If Percy remembered correctly, that weasel had severe gastric problems, so it was a mystery to him why Hecate let it stay so close. The weasel's beady eyes glittered in the sunlight, and it bared its pointy teeth at the dumbstruck demigods, chattering softly.

Percy hesitated. One did not go insulting a goddess' solutions to problems, even when said solutions seemed more dangerous that the problem itself. He'd learned that the hard way.

"Er. Well," he said articulately, "isn't that a bit of a, um... strange way of travelling? You basically told us we're gonna hold hands and close our eyes while you somehow teleport us to a school that's thousands of miles away and protected by magic."

He could almost hear Annabeth roll her eyes. _Seaweed Brain, this is the _goddess _of magic you're talking to, remember?_

The goddess nodded, her unnaturally pale face as calm as ever.

"That is correct."

"But isn't that supposed to be, like, impossible?"

Hecate raised an eyebrow.

"You question my power?"

"Um... no, no, no! It's just, er...what do we have to do, click our ruby slippers and call ourselves Dorothy? "

Annabeth elbowed him in the ribs, and Piper stepped forward before Percy could make it any worse.

"My lady," she said smoothly, "please forgive Percy, he's just unused to magic and your power, having only just returned from Tartarus the last time we met. I think what he _meant_ to say," she shot him a pointed look, "was that we were told Hogwarts was pretty much impregnable. I imagine he wasn't expecting such a simple solution to our problem."

Hecate waved a hand around carelessly, and a flaming torch suddenly appeared in her palm.

"And rightly so." she said. "Hogwarts is a school of witchcraft and wizardry, its secrets and its pupils must be closely hidden and kept safe. Indeed it would be impossible for any mortal to breach the castle's security without my help, but seeing as I am the patron of magic and I offer you my aid willingly, your journey to Hogwarts will not be a challenge."

The light of her torch reflected in her eyes, making the pupils dance slightly. Were she not a goddess, Percy would have wondered why the fire was showing up so brightly - it was the middle of the afternoon, but Hecate's light glowed as fiercely as though it burned in the darkest of nights. Her black eyes surveyed them one by one, her features becoming sterner.

"The real challenge will be once you enter the castle, for enter you will if you use your minds and powers alike. You will find enemies, friends and allies, but I need not tell you how some may appear friendly at first while hiding a darker nature. I offered to aid you at the very start of your quest because never before has such a quest been bestowed upon demigods. For the first time in history, mortal or magical, demigods, mortals and wizards will work together to save magic. Many will not know they will be doing so," she smiled slightly, "but co-operate they will."

She gestured at them all.

"Chiron will no doubt have told you how the fate of magic now rests in your hands, and in your hands only. Since the wizards are in effect my children, I cannot interfere and take sides among my own, but you can. The wizard who has returned is a user of Dark magic, one who has sacrificed what was left of his humanity long ago by mortal standards. He has ceased to use my creation as it ought to be used, and instead uses it to gain power, kill innocents and achieve his own gains only. He is, of course, not the first one to have done so, but never before has a wizard delved so deeply in the Dark Arts. He is a wizard, but a follower of mine only in name. His misuse of magic and the means to achieve his aims make him a disgrace to my kind, and he must be defeated, even if I cannot have any part in his demise."

The goddess was still steadily staring at them, but after a few seconds more Leo cleared his throat.

"Um, sorry. But aren't you the goddess of _all _kinds of magic, like necromancy and witchcraft and all that? This Dark guy, I suppose he used the kind of magic that was made possible by your powers. Doesn't that make it awkward how he's supposed to be destroyed because he explored something you put...in front of...him?" He faltered a little, quailing a bit under the intensity of Hecate's gaze.

"Young demigod, I would have you know I do not have to explain myself to young mortals who understand so little."

Leo's lips quirked almost imperceptibly. Percy nearly rolled his eyes. Here we go again, he thought. Gods not having an answer to queries and taking the easy way out by ignoring pointed questions.

"However," Hecate continued. "This is a quest only I can fully comprehend, though even as a goddess I cannot stop this Dark Lord by myself. I recognize you too must understand the task to succeed. Very well. Voldemort," she said, with a small sigh, "is no longer strictly human. He is no longer even mortal, having tampered with powers not even the gods should be able to use - excluding myself, of course. Nico di Angelo has rightly guessed he can no longer die: Voldemort crafted himself a path that allowed him to outskirt death, even though it cost him the lives of loyal followers, his body, his sanity, and the last remnants of humanity he had left. In nature, appearance, and all but name Voldemort is now more a monster than a person. His growing power mean the bloodshed of wizards and ordinary mortals alike, and more lives lost than can possibly be explained in the mortal world however vast the power of the Mist. By making himself immortal, Voldemort has stretched the limits between mortals and gods almost to breaking point. Mortals have attempted to achieve immortality before," her lips thinned, "and anyone who enters the Underworld can hear the groans of Sisyphus as he endures his punishment. I am the goddess of magic, of the Mist, and of the thin limits between them and the mortal world. I offer my help because Voldemort has disrespected those limits, and for that hubris he will be punished, for no mortal nor wizard with the slightest shred of humanity would have upset the balance I had established."

"So basically, you gods are once more in trouble, and you need demigods to sort it out for you because you can't." Percy summed up. He didn't care that he sounded rude or offensive. This whole 'gods need mortals more than mortals need gods' thing was starting to seriously annoy him, because it meant that all the hard work was left to demigods - who were, by all rights, little more than children - while the gods stayed away and expected them to succeed where they failed. It was madness. It was unfair. It was-

"It is the way it is, Percy Jackson." Hecate said, still impassive. "As much as the gods hate to allow it, they need the help of their children to stop Voldemort in his tracks. But find solace, if you will, in that this quest decides the fate of magic, and by extension that of the world as well. For once, it is no petty dispute of the gods, but a matter every single one of you here should hold close to their heart."

Something in the way she talked about the gods made Percy suspect she didn't consider herself one of them,. Then he remembered: Annabeth had once patiently - well, not really - told him about the origins of the gods, and now he recalled something about Hecate actually being a titan. Besides, she had been on Kronos' side during the Titan war and rumour had it she hadn't gone back to the Olympian side out of good will.

"So, how do we do this?" Annabeth asked, grabbing Percy's hand and gripping it tightly, a silent warning not to speak anymore.

Hecate motioned for them to gather closer, and she started making circular motions with the torch at her side. The light of the fire grew brighter, and the colours changed from warm gold to blinding white and icy blue, the sheer luminescence of the flames leaving multi-coloured streaks in the demigods' visions. They did as they were bid and moved into a circle, holding hands and closing their eyes. The fire from Hecate's torch now glowed too brightly to look at it, and as the nine teenagers huddled together, Hecate spun her torch faster and faster, rapidly creating a circular gap in the air, like a window that looked out on sheer light. She slowed her spinning, but the gap she had created carried on spinning, faster and faster until all movement faded into one glowing disk of something that was neither air, space, nor light. It was magic.

Hecate glided towards the halo of spinning light, placing herself directly behind it.

"Follow my voice." she called out to the demigods. "Do not open your eyes, for seeing magic in its purest of forms will lose you your vision. Walk towards me; do not be scared. My power will see you safely to Hogwarts, but as you travel do not let go of each other. While you are in the aether, what little reality you have left lies in yourselves and in your companions. Let them go and you relinquish all that you know, and you will drift indefinitely in timeless space. Come, come closer. Feel the magic and let it guide you; do not interfere. Young demigods, you are doing the gods a great service, to me especially. I thank you on behalf of the wizarding world, and may Ananke guide you."

Percy kept his eyes as tightly shut as he could, gripping Annabeth's hand in his right one and Thalia's in the left. He felt his feet walk almost of their own volition, responding to the goddess' nearly hypnotic voice. His friends around him moved as well, following Hecate's voice and the pull of her magic. They took a few more steps that seemed to stretch on for eternity, and finally the aether grew so bright Percy's eyelids hardly seemed like a sufficient shield from the light. He took one more step, and suddenly gravity ceased to exist. He felt his body lurch into nothingness, and the girls on either side of him slammed into his ribs as they fell through too. He bit his tongue to stop himself from yelling - it wasn't very dignified, and he didn't want to expose himself to the aether any more than absolutely necessary. Percy gripped Annabeth and Thalia's hands more tightly than ever and forced his eyes to remain shut, which was starting to get harder than it ought to. As he and his friends tumbled and spun like in an über-speed washing machine, the light around them increased, if possible, in intensity, until their eyelids felt like they were about to burn to a crisp.

For how long their journey went on for, Percy couldn't tell. For the whole time - if time even existed in this place - he was only aware of Annabeth's hand in his own, the searing light threatening to pierce his eyes, and the increasing need for oxygen, because it was apparently impossible to breathe while they were being aether-flown through half a world. Finally, when Percy was just thinking how he would faint or quite possibly die if this went on for much longer, the whirling light stopped, and his feet slammed into something solid once more.

Percy stumbled, accidentally letting go of Thalia's hand as he crashed to the floor. He opened his eyes just in time to see grass, and the next thing he knew he was face-down on a lawn, his tongue tasting earth, and his nose sore. Next to him, someone he couldn't see gave a shout and there was a loud splash, followed by laughter. He lay there, stunned for a few moments, hardly able to process what had just happened. Hecate, the goddess of magic, had just transported them across thousands of miles in little more than seconds. He supposed he shouldn't be too surprised: Hermes, Zeus and Nico had pretty fast ways of travelling as well. But Hecate did it in a whole style of her own.

Percy raised his head, clutching his nose with his free hand and pulling up a dizzy Annabeth with the other. She looked okay, as far as he could tell, maybe a bit paler than usual. Her eyes were as sharp as ever though, and they widened in surprise as she caught sight of something behind him. Percy turned to see what it was, and nearly laughed out loud.

They had landed on the shore of a large lake, and apparently Hecate needed to mind her aim a bit more, because some of their number had been unfortunate enough to land in the lake itself. Thalia and Leo were scrabbling out of the murky water, soaking wet and grumbling loudly. Leo looked a bit like one of those friendly alley-cats, with his wet hair sticking out all over his forehead and his slightly scrawny frame made more so by his dripping T-shirt. Thalia looked like a significantly _less _friendly alley-cat: she was dripping, all right, but her blue eyes hummed with power, and she looked ready to strangle any old granny who tied to pet her.

Thalia swore in Ancient Greek as she reached the shore and pulled herself up. She started to roughly wring her t-shirt of any major excesses of water, glaring at her companions as though daring them to comment. Leo just grinned. He snapped his fingers, and a second later dozens of sparks appeared and zoomed all over his limbs, chest and head. In less than five seconds, he was dry.

"What happened?" Thalia snapped. "Don't tell me we were _supposed _to land in that damn lake, or I'll zap you."

Percy grinned.

"Not in that state, you won't. Water conducts electricity. If you used one of your pet lightning bolts on us you'd get shocked yourself."

Scowling, Thalia made a gesture over her shoulder, twisting her hand in a slightly dance-like move as though she were in a Bollywood film. Immediately, a strong wind picked up around them, lifting leaves up in the air and whipping their hair around their heads. The wind got stronger, and Thalia led it into a loop around herself, creating her own mini-tornado. A few moments later, she was windswept, cold, and still slightly damp, but significantly drier and even more annoyed.

"Care to say that again, Jackson? I didn't hear you the first time."

Percy gulped, but Annabeth stepped in before anyone else retaliated.

"Guys, come one. We're officially on a quest now. We can't afford to be immature."

Leo groaned and dramatically put a hand to his throat.

"To me, that's like saying we can't afford to breathe!" he exclaimed.

Jason got to his feet. He and Piper stood side by side, looking a bit stunned but well enough.

"I agree with Annabeth. First things first: we have to find a way to infiltrate Hogwarts." He paused. "If we can find it. Actually, are we even supposed to know what it looks like?"

"I think it's a huge, grey castle, with turrets and towers and looking like it belongs in the middle ages." Nico said suddenly.

The others turned to him, surprised.

"How in Hades could you know that...?"

Nico pointed behind them. The eight demigods looked, and their jaws promptly dropped. Behind them loomed the biggest, most intimidating fortress any of them had seen, with, indeed, several huge towers, spindly turrets and countless gothic arches. The stones varied in shades of grey, and the roofing was black slate covered in a slight sheen from a previous rainfall. Together with the hundreds of gargoyles dotting the ledges and the sheer size of the building, it was as majestic as it looked alarming.

"That's a school?" Leo said weakly. "Wonder what their palaces look like."

Percy glanced at Annabeth, who was staring at the castle in a mixture of awe, disbelief and excitement. He knew for a fact she would be happy here for as long as it took for her to find out the exact architectural structure and design of every corner of that castle.

"When Hecate mentioned a castle, I don't know what I thought, but it certainly wasn't this." Annabeth murmured. "She found a way to use the aether to let us pass through all the magical boundaries around this place."

Percy shuffled awkwardly.

"Sorry," he said, "but, um... What exactly is the aether?"

"In Ancient Greek, it literally means 'pure air', and it was believed to be the substance that the gods breathed." Annabeth explained. "Later, in medieval Europe, it was said to be a layer of material that covered the sky, between the highest layers of it and the rest of the universe. Mortals still use the term, but in a godly context it's a substance a bit like the Mist: the gods breathe it and use it as part of their powers for things like creating special effects - or travelling, apparently."

Leo raised an eyebrow.

"Geez, how many more super-powerful omnipresent forces are we going to find out about today?"

"Well, that's the point." Annabeth said, looking thoughtful. "The aether is never mentioned to be very powerful, just occasionally useful. It _is _only the equivalent of breathable air for the gods, after all, even if it does have its other uses."

Percy goggled at her.

"Not very powerful? Annabeth, Hecate teleported us across the world in, like, seconds! If that's not power, I don't know what is."

"I suppose it makes some sense, though." Hazel joined in. "Hecate is the goddess of the aether now, so it only seems logical she would make it collaborate with her own creations."

Leo held a hand up, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Lady, wait. There are several things wrong with that statement. First of all, magic is anything but logical: you and Hecate nicely demonstrated that for us in the House of Hades. Secondly, what do you mean Hecate is the goddess of the aether 'now' _-_ did she get promoted or something? And lastly, you said that collaboration bit like she has multiple responsibilities as a deity; I thought she was only the goddess of magic?"

Hazel looked a little miffed at being called out like that, and her tone was a bit more clipped when she answered Leo.

"When she supported the gods in their rebellion to overthrow the titans, the Olympians gave her a share in all three major parts of the universe: the sky, the earth and the underworld." she said. "Hecate was already the titan associated with magic, but then she was also given some power over the dead, the ability to control and use the aether as she wished, and various other emblems that are more earthly, like crossroads, doorways, choices and trivial knowledge. When she took over the aether, the original deity in charge of it, Aether, stepped back and let her take up his mantle - a bit like Apollo and Diana took over the sun and moon from Helios and Selene. Hecate's the only deity to have power in all elements of the universe."

"Which actually explains how she was able to create the wizarding world in the first place, I suppose." Annabeth mused. "I mean, you can't create a whole civilization just by being able to control clouds or haunting crossroads."

Piper delicately raised a hand, making a show of clearing her throat.

"Excuse me," she said sweetly. "But aren't we supposed to figure out a way to enter the school?"

Annabeth snapped out of her reverie and got back to business.

"Right. So, the obvious route to take would be to meet the headmaster and convince him to take us in."

"Hey, headmaster! Take us in, we're really good at fighting monsters, flying warships and picking strawberries!" Leo muttered. "Piece of cake."

"We have to make the headmaster pity us," Annabeth continued. "Our powers of persuasion are pretty much useless in this situation: even if Piper could persuade him to take us in, her spell wouldn't hold indefinitely, and I have a feeling swords and arrows won't be much good in convincing him to attend his school either."

"So what do we do, make up a story that we're orphans and we need a home?" Percy asked, himself unsure if he was being sarcastic or not.

"Something like that." Jason said thoughtfully. "For some of us that's pretty much true, anyway. We have to make the headmaster feel guilty enough to let us in of his own accord. Maybe make up something about how we have nowhere else to go."

"Yeah, that could work." Leo said enthusiastically, "we could say something awful happened at our last school and we had to fight our way out and come here at the risk of our lives. We can give lots of details, like what monsters we fought on the way, and what all sorts of creepy stuff we had to do to get past the Hogwarts barriers."

Annabeth frowned.

"That's hardly making it sound realistic, Leo. Too many words at the start just makes it obvious we're lying. Plus, we really shouldn't go on about how we breached the boundaries, since they're supposed to keep everything and everyone out. But the disaster idea is good," she said thoughtfully, "lies are always better and more believable when they have some truth to them. Gaea's attack on the camp was disastrous, all right. We can think of that if they ask for details."

Percy nodded in approval.

"And if we have to give any names, give the name of someone we're all likely to know. Like if they ask who our principal was, we say Mr. D."

Thalia looked uncomfortable.

"But we have to be careful not give many names anyway," she said. "We all know from experience how dangerous names can be. Annabeth's right: the simpler the better. If we say too much, we'll have trouble keeping track of what we say."

"Which is why, maybe, we should leave the talking to only some of us," Piper said, looking like she was choosing her words carefully. "No offence, you guys, but I think it's best if Annabeth handles the explanations, and I can do some persuading if there's any need. Jason is quite the diplomat as well now, so he can speak up if necessary."

There were nods all around as the demigods saw the sense in this. Nico muttered how that was more than fine with him, and Frank even looked relieved. Leo looked a bit put out, and Percy couldn't help but feel the same way, but he knew Piper was right: if they messed up, the consequences would be grave.

"I guess we should also cover up our shirts," Hazel said. "Bright purple and orange tops with strange camp names can be quite a bit of a giveaway."

Annabeth slapped her forehead.

"I can't believe I didn't see that earlier!" she groaned. "What if someone had seen us straightaway? Hazel, you're brilliant, thank you."

Hazel's dark cheeks flushed. Percy suspected she sometimes felt a bit inferior to Annabeth, who had saved countless lives with her brilliant plans and divine legacy of intellect. He honestly didn't see why: Hazel was great, and she had her own incredible talents. He had yet to find someone else who could summon riches, manipulate the Mist and tame wild horses like she could.

Once jackets had been zipped up, or shirts put on backwards and hidden by loose hair (or, in Leo's case, put on inside-out) they started trooping up the steep hill towards the castle. It was the end of summer, but even in Europe the weather was still quite agreeable, and the sun was warm enough for them to feel hot and flustered when they reached the top. The huge shadows by the castle itself provided nice cool shade, and they could set about looking for a way in.

"One question," Leo asked, panting as they circled yet another tower in the hope of finding a door of some sort, "if we do actually find an entrance, how do we find the headmaster? The castle looks huge, and it's the summer vacation. Who's actually gonna be there?"

"It's a boarding school," Annabeth replied, "and a very elaborate one, clearly. There are bound to be some teachers around when the students are gone, and I think it's pretty much expected of the headmaster anyway."

"How'd you figure that one out?" Jason asked.

"Well, a school as big as this would require constant maintenance." Annabeth reasoned. "There's probably a whole load of staff, and someone would have to supervise them in case anything needed reporting. So, a headmaster, or a deputy at least."

Piper grinned ruefully.

"I should definitely try to make friends with logic, too." she decided.

Thalia laughed.

"You're a child of Aphrodite." she pointed out. "The rules of common sense are reversed among your lot. Act first, think later."

Piper frowned, but not because she was annoyed at the huntress.

"Unfortunately, I think you're right," she mumbled. "There are times when our emotions prove to be more useful than overactive intellect, but-"

"Well, well, well," said an unfamiliar voice, not a nice one, behind them. "We _are _in trouble."

The nine demigods spun round in alarm and surprise. Percy found himself reaching for Riptide, but restrained himself just in time. They were supposed to be normal, for Zeus' sake! The man in front of them was, so far, the most unpleasant thing they'd seen of the wizarding world. He wasn't tall, but made even less so by his stooped posture and hunched shoulders. His beady eyes had a mean glint to them, only reinforced by the crooked smile he gave them, revealing broken, yellow and distinctly few teeth. His stringy, greasy hair hanging limply from his mostly bald head made Tyson's hair look clean, and his pox-marked skin was pale and most unhealthy-looking in the bright sunlight. He cackled in malicious glee.

"Students? No uniforms, no luggage, terribly early and attempting to break in? My, my, you _must_ be trying to set a new record."

Percy knew he ought to be concerned about the imminent threats this man was making, but only the word "uniform" registered in his mind, and his heart sank. He detested uniforms. Whatever they were though, he hoped there weren't any ties - they always made him feel like he was choking. Maybe as a son of Poseidon it was because he found death by lack of breathable air so ironic since he could, you know, breathe underwater, but the fact remained that he would rather wear one of those ghastly Roman togas every day rather than a uniform.

Annabeth cleared her throat hurriedly.

"Excuse me, sir," she said politely. "There must be a misunderstanding. Please could you show us the way in? We're new students, you see, so-"

The unpleasant man held up a hand gnarled with rheumatism and topped with yellowed fingernails.

"American, eh?" he sneered. "No excuse, no explanations. Rules are rules. If you break 'em, you're a criminal in all but name. Been telling the headmaster to treat 'em as such for decades, but he seems to think whips and chains and dungeons do more harm than good. Rubbish, I say."

He peered at them and narrowed his eyes.

"Though I must say I've never seen such an extent of students going out of bounds - before the term even _started_, even. I reckon we can negotiate something special for you little hooligans, eh? I've kept my whips and cat-o'-nines nicely-oiled for years, maybe they'll do."

Out of the corner of his eye, Percy saw Frank and Thalia tense, and Thalia slowly reached for her backpack, which he knew was actually her bow and quiver. Not wanting to create too much of a scene and jeopardize the whole thing so early on in their mission, Percy stepped forward and held up both hands, trying to sound sympathetic when he spoke.

"Hey, you know what, dude? You're right. It's totally unfair how rule-breakers don't get correctly punished anymore. I mean the only way we'll learn is by force, right? It'll give us something to remember it by."

The man looked amazed, and his small, beady eyes widened. He looked like he'd met the Messiah - which actually, from a non-Christian, polytheist kind of way, Percy sort of was, being the son of a god and all.

The man nodded vigorously.

"Well... Yes, yes. Oh, I've been saying that for years. You lot are in for a heck of a punishment. Nothing like a bit of pain to make you remember to stay in line, that's right."

"Exactly." Percy said, ignoring his friends exchanging looks, wondering if ole' PJ had finally cracked. "Back in our school, we do things way better: corporal punishments, isolation in cells, starvation - the whole lot. The best way is the Spartan way, they say."

The man looked at him blankly.

"The hard way. The painful way." Percy translated.

The man brightened - relatively speaking.

"But I'm assuming you need permission to use your whips on us, though." Percy carried on. "D'you think maybe you could take us to the headmaster and physically show him how awful we'd been and how we deserve a harsher punishment?"

The man nodded readily, all traces of suspicion gone.

"Yes, I suppose I'll have to. I _could_ just take you to my office and deal with you there and then, but Dumbledore might not be pleased if I didn't ask him first..." he mused. "I don't suppose we could just keep this between ourselves, could we?" he asked, looking hopeful.

Percy hesitated.

"Um... No, I really think-"

"Oh, please take us to mister Dumbledore, sir." Piper said, finally cottoning on. Percy sighed in relief; he could hear an edge of charmspeak in her voice and he found himself nodding along to what she said. "We wouldn't want _you_ to get in trouble as well. And it might be the opportunity to show the headmaster how fitting it is that we get what we deserve."

Her voice was warm and respectful, and the other demigods nodded, making approving sounds as though her suggestion was perfectly reasonable. The only one who looked doubtful was Leo.

"Erm... Guys, I'm feeling quite partial to lines and detention, myself. Or even being let off the hook, seeing as, you know, we didn't _do _anyth-_ow_!" he yelped as Frank stamped on his foot. "I mean... Whips? Dungeons? Pain?" he squeaked. "I love pain. Let's do this, candy-man."

The man ignored him. He was probably used to protestations and excuse, and visibly was not in the habit of making exceptions, even for students who claimed to love punishment.

"Right. This way, you little scumbags." the man said, shoving past Nico and Percy, shuffling along the sides of the castle. "We're off to see the headmaster, so you'd better prepare yourselves for a thrashing like you've never had before."

Percy exchanged a look with Annabeth and they raised their eyebrows simultaneously. It was amazing how Hazel, Thalia and Piper's trick of saying what your enemies wanted you to say was effective, even when no magic nor Mist was used. Percy made a mental note to start practicing that himself. They'd had proof it could work just about anywhere, even in a wizarding world hidden from the rest of humanity.

In silence, or very nearly, they followed the man, who sounded like he was the caretaker the way he kept grumbling to himself about imminent pranks, widespread plagues of sweet-wrappers and the amount of work he had to do to keep up with it all. They walked for about five minutes before at last reaching a large wooden door with great black iron bolts. The man, still grumbling, but now about how quickly doors like this needed oiling and did they know how many times he'd asked for them to be charmed adequately, and took a huge black key from his pocket, inserting it into a similarly-sized keyhole, and using both hands to turn it. There was a loud _clunk_, and the door creaked open. The demigods shuffled inside, suddenly wary and - strangely, for them - intimidated. It was cooler inside. The walls were made of stone, and a few torches flickered brightly, casting shadows on the whole corridor.

The caretaker led them along, ignoring their stunned expressions as they took in their - admittedly limited - second look at an aspect of the wizarding world. Percy felt like a bit of a fool. Not once since he'd noticed the castle down by the lake had he thought "hey, this is a medieval castle; it's bound to be medieval inside!"

Only Annabeth looked excited as she looked around.

"I can't wait to see the halls." she whispered eagerly to Percy. "European architecture is so fascinating - it was always so varied and alien to the Greeks. Of course, in a castle as old as this one, the styles must have amalgamated and-"

"Hurry up you little toerags!" the caretaker shouted irritably, already a dozen feet ahead of them despite his obvious difficulty of movement. "Haven't got all day. The other students are arriving tonight, and I for one have got other things to do than babysitting criminals."

"No-one's asking you to." Nico muttered, but like the others he followed the caretaker as he led them through a couple of corridors, a hall or two, and up several flights of stairs. By the time they had reached the third floor, the demigods were stunned, because it had suddenly dawned on them just how wrong they'd been: the castle wasn't huge, it was ridiculously _massive_. Most of them were already a bit breathless, which considering their training was saying something, and all of them were in shock: the halls were as big as houses; the doors _talked_; the stairs changed direction even as they were stepped on; the portraits and pictures _moved. _Percy stood, entranced, staring at a picture of a ship at sea that was floundering in a violent storm, portrayed with towering waves, howling winds, and flashing strips of lightning. Annabeth had to pull him away before they could lose sight of their guide.

"Oh, Kym, sister mine, you've been busy over the years." was all Percy could mumble as he stumbled after the others.

Annabeth had been the one to call him back to the present, but she was by no means totally with it either. Her head kept twisting and turning in every direction, gasping and pointing at anything that stood out as interesting design, beautiful balance or just plain impossible by any laws of nature. But Percy, like the rest of his friends, was very quickly learning that he would have to say goodbye to whatever principles of science and logic he had managed to keep hold of so far.

Leo was all abuzz, too. Much like Annabeth, he looked like he could've done with a few extra pairs of eyes, or maybe some like Orion's, with built-in binoculars and video recorder. Twice, Percy had to push him forward lest he cause a traffic jam in a particularly narrow corridor. He didn't blame his friend though. As a son of Hephaestus, he was bound to stare and prod until he figured out how it all worked.

The caretaker walked surprisingly quickly, the nine teenagers often having to jog to keep up. Finally, after another climb up a huge marble flight of stairs, they met their second wizarding person. This time, the effect was rather more impressive. She was a witch, tall, with black hair streaked with silver and pulled back in to a tight bun. Her hat was big and pointed, and her clothes looked like superimposed medieval gowns, complete with huge flapping sleeves and several layers of dark, heavy fabric. The only things that lacked to the picture were a few warts, a wand, and perhaps a cauldron or two.

The witch didn't spot them at first, walking towards them in a very business-like manner whilst reading a very long sheet of yellowish paper. She didn't slow or halt until she was within ten feet of the caretaker. When she looked up and caught sight of the panting caretaker and nine shifty teenagers, her bespectacled eyes widened in astonishment.

"Mr Filch! What is the meaning of this?" she cried, in an accent Percy only knew because he watched television. Vague memories of swearing, huge lakes and rain swam back as he tried to locate it. English, maybe? No... Irish? Aha! Scottish!

"Students, Professor McGonagall." the caretaker, Filch, said. "I found 'em trying to break into the school. They're American, and I ain't seen 'em before, but students found breaking rules must be punished accordingly. I was just on my way to bring them to Professor Dumbledore, ma'am."

The witch hardly seemed to hear him. She was staring at Percy and his friends, her eyes looking like they were about to pop. Was it Percy's imagination, or did he see a glimmer of realization flick across her gaze...? In any case, the witch professor recovered quickly, and a second later had straightened slightly, rolling up her long piece of paper. Her hands looked like they were shaking a little, and Percy wondered if it was down to advanced age, or if he'd been right and she was genuinely stunned - and possibly a little frightened - in finding them here.

"Thank you, Argus." she said.

_Argus?_ Percy thought. _Argus?_ Who in the name of Poseidon would call their child that?

"I'll take them myself." she went on. "I was on my way to his office anyway, so I might as well spare you the, ah... ordeal." She smiled thinly. It was clear that she was used to getting things her way.

Percy was suspicious, though. She'd been walking in the opposite direction from them, and that piece of paper had seemed more important than so-called rule-breakers a few seconds ago. Either something fishy was going on here, or he was getting way too paranoid for his own good.

Filch shuffled uncomfortably.

"Well... you see, Professor, I had a mind to ask the headmaster if I could use my equipment on them, for once. As it's a special case, and all, I wondered if..." he faltered as the witch straightened completely, and her nostrils flared while her eyes shot daggers at him. The overall effect was intimidating, and Percy had a flashback of Hera when she was angry.

"Really, Filch! This is the twenty-first century, not the middle ages!" ("Really?" muttered Leo. "Could've fooled me.") "Hand these students over to me at once and away with you! I understand you can get frustrated during term-time, when goodness knows how students can be infuriating, but term has not even started and there really is no excuse for your barbaric approach to discipline!"

Filch bowed his head, mumbled a few nonsensical things, then turned and shuffled away, glancing back almost apologetically to the nine demigods while they tried not to look too relieved.

The witch let out a short breath, then gathered her skirts and looked imperiously at the teenagers before her. There was a moment of silence as she considered them, and as they took in the sight of her, the most wizarding image they'd had so far.

"Well, I've really no idea how you lot got here, or what any of this means, but you'd better come with me." she said finally. Something in the way she said it made Percy suspect their arrival wasn't the first strange thing that had happened in the last few days.

They followed her in silence - which was strange in itself, since by now Percy would have expected at least one of his friends to say something - until they reached a dead end, with nothing there but the large statue of a gargoyle. The witch stopped, and Percy wondered is she'd taken a wrong turn. He didn't blame her: this castle was a freaking labyrinth! And he would know, having actually been and nearly died in the original.

"Chocolate frog." Professor McGonagall said crisply. Behind her, a few eyebrows were raised, but suddenly the stone gargoyle raised its skeletal wings, screeched and moved aside, giving way to a gently ascending spiral staircase. Annabeth's jaw dropped slightly, and Percy heard Leo mutter very quietly to himself.

"Pistons?... No, too noisy. Motor?... What kind of fuel? No electricity here..."

Professor McGonagall stepped primly onto the first step, and the demigods watched in stunned silence as she was slowly spun upwards. She made an impatient gesture for them to follow, and they hastened to obey. This was not a woman you could cross and get away with it.

"What was that about chocolate?" Piper whispered.

"A password." Leo breathed back.

"Probably a special code to link two of the most unlikely words imaginable together." Annabeth said. "I mean, who would ever link frogs with chocolate?"

Hazel and Piper snorted quietly, but Percy hoped it wasn't some sort of wizarding delicacy. He'd had enough weirdness for the day, thankyouverymuch.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The seven, Thalia and Nico tramped into the office, some wet, some sulky and some giggly, but all emotions gave way to awe as they took in their surroundings. The headmaster's office was a Hephaestus's kid's heaven. There were strange instruments aesthetically placed around the room, not one them failing to emit a some sort of clicking or a gentle humming, and their shiny metal parts glittered and flashed in the light. It was warm, cozy, and seemed to emanate from the room itself.

Leo's hands itched to pick some of them up and find out what - literally - made them tick. His Hephaestus senses were going overdrive, sensing a huge force at work that made all these wonderful instruments function. A kind of power, ever-present, and somehow _everywhere._ Leo's mind was racing. How was this possible? Was this the magic Chiron had told them about? It didn't feel like the Mist; it felt more...alive.

Leo mentally shook himself. What was he talking about? Magic, alive? Maybe it was time for a SuperLeo Caffeine Shot - he was getting more tired than he thought. Hephaestus kids could work out how mechanical structures worked, what made machines function, how they could harness the structures and use them to suit their own needs. Magic was, well... Magic. Not mechanical, not machinery, and certainly not alive. He wouldn't be able to know- er, _sense _it if it was alive. Leo wasn't good with living things, or anything that was conscious. Well, perhaps except for Festus.

Leo shot a glance at Annabeth, knowing her brain would be doing a double-take at much as his own was. He grinned. It wasn't everyday you got to see a daughter of Athena baffled, which she was. Her stormy grey eyes were wide, and her face strangely pale in the warm light. She reached for Percy's hand, who took it. He too was visibly taken aback by the sheer _wizardness _of the room. Percy's eyes were fixed on a huge wall covered in portrait paintings. Leo squinted. All the people in them looked asleep.

Wait...was that one _snoring_?

The other thing that nobody failed to note in the room was the tall, silver-bearded, most wizardy man Leo could ever have imagined, let alone seen before. Even Hecate didn't scream _Magic rocks!_ that much. The man was old - well over eighty, in Leo's opinion - but radiated a kind of warm, friendly energy. Somewhat unfortunately, though, it reminded Leo of a few gods/monsters/other mythology-thing that he and his friends had met/stumbled upon/killed during the Giants war. Some of them had looked alright, even friendly, but very soon a manic gleam had appeared in their eyes, as though they were not entirely sane. A similar look about this old man told the nine demigods he was completely, utterly and entirely eccentric.

The man stood up, his sharp blue eyes alight with curiosity.

"Well this is a surprise, Professor McGonagall," he said, "whoever have you brought me, then?"

The severe-looking witch shot a glance at the assembled teenagers. If Leo hadn't had the immediate impression that this was a woman who did not loose her cool easily, he would have said she was nervous.

"Headmaster, forgive this interruption, I know you're exceedingly busy at this time of year," she shot a dirty look at the demigods. A few of them looked back at her like, _We can't help it, you dried-up old nymph_. "But these children-"

"Excuse me," Annabeth interrupted unexpectedly. She sounded miffed. "We're _not _children."

Percy raised his eyebrows at his girlfriend in surprise. Usually she left the rude interruptions to him. Leo agreed with the sentiment: Annabeth was far too sensible and diplomatic to forfeit their first meeting with the wizarding world. Ruined relations and Annabeth just didn't associate, which was why Leo stepped forward and loudly cleared his throat.

"Good afternoon," he said politely, but the witch's flaring nostrils told him he was acting far too bouncy and cheerful on a territory that was, for all they knew, potentially dangerous.

"My name is Leo Valdez. These are my good friends Percy Jackson, Annabeth Chase, Hazel Levesque, Frank Zhang, Nico di Angelo, Jason Grace, Piper McLean and Thalia. We, er...seem to have landed on your lawn." He paused. "This _is_ Hogwarts, isn't it?"

He tried to quash the giggle that wanted to escape. _Hogwarts -_ honestly!

The old man peered at Leo over his strangely-shaped spectacles. From a distance they looked like transparent halves of lemon slices. The only ones like that Leo had ever seen had been in his mother's workshop. A customer left them there one day, and Leo had played with them mostly to reflect light on walls - until they broke.

Now that he was standing, the demigods could see the headmaster was indeed _very_ tall. Over six feet. His beard and actual hair were down to his waist and tucked into his belt, secured by - Leo narrowed his eyes to see better - a sparkly hairband?... The man's fuchsia robes clashed magnificently with his heavily-embroidered red waistcoat, and even more so with his bright orange trousers. Leo had to fight the urge to wince. Even Mr D. would have found that outfit a little bit loud.

The headmaster strode around his desk to approach the nine demigods, his keen eyes quickly flitting over each of their faces in turn. He did not speak for another few seconds, continuing his scrutiny. For the first time in his life, Leo felt like _he _was the machine being sensed, read, evaluated and understood, like he himself usually did on anything that could be defined as machinery. The man's gaze was _that_ creepy. Leo shivered. Here was another magic person not to cross. Great. His not-to-cross list of people was now reaching, what, the hundreds?

"Thank you, Minerva," the headmaster said finally. "That will be all. Please tell Sibyll that she need no longer be concerned."

The witch - whom Leo would never in his _life_ had guessed was called Minerva - looked like she might want to argue, but refrained from doing so and quietly left the office after nodding cordially to the headmaster.

Once the door had clicked short (brass doorknob, magical lock, only opened for people who were welcome, Leo noted subconsciously) the headmaster casually sat on the front edge of his desk and crossed his arms, his x-ray stare still piercing the objects/persons of his attention.

"You have given me your names," he said, "Alas, sadly that does not illuminate me much as to who you are. But quite clearly you do not know who I am, however, and since you find yourselves at a disadvantage in any case, please let me introduce myself. My name is Albus Dumbledore, I am the headmaster here at Hogwarts."

_Yeah, we kinda gathered that,_ Leo thought.

"Now," Dumbledore continued, "we all have the privilege of knowing each other's names. May I presume that we can now progress as to the reason you arrived - and also _how_?"

His tone was light and courteous, but there was a steely undertone to it that made Leo feel this man wasn't as flowery as he looked, and possibly quite dangerous. The demigods exchanged a few glances. This was the moment. A second later, Annabeth was the undiscussed elected spokesperson. She took a step forward and addressed the headmaster.

"First of all, Professor, I'd like to apologize for my outburst a minute ago," she said smoothly. "It just... It seemed unfair to be called children after what we...after what we went through."

She closed her eyes briefly, and there was a slight tremor in her voice. Leo was impressed. Even _he _wasn't that good.

The headmaster straightened. He took - seemingly out of nowhere - a long, thin stick (a wand, Leo suddenly realized), waving it once in a long, sweeping motion, and suddenly nine comfortable chairs materialized and dropped gently to the floor.

"I sense a tale coming," Dumbledore said, returning to his throne-like chair. "We might as well be comfortable." He sat, and passed around a box full of lemon candy. Leo took one politely and handed the box to Percy, who frowned almost imperceptibly. Leo grinned, knowing his friend was disappointed the candy wasn't blue.

"Now. You were saying, my dear?" Dumbledore prompted Annabeth gently.

She sat, tense on her seat, with both hands gripping the sides. She hadn't accepted a piece of candy.

"We - my friends and I, I mean - go...or, um, used to go to a magical institute in America. It was a great place, we even went to summer camp there and learned all kinds of things, like how to fight monsters and care for magical beasts."

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose imperceptibly, and he had to recognize Annabeth's skill: the best lies were always in part truthful.

"But one day," Annabeth continued, apparently doing her best to keep her voice level "the monsters attacked. There are so many of them in America, you see. Far too many for our government to control, and over the past few years they've been growing strong." Again, the truth, though Leo sniggered at the thought of Olympus being an actual government. "We were unprepared. They attacked at dawn and destroyed everything about the school they could see, including the magical creatures - the nice ones which we kept with us - the staff, and... and the students."

A tear leaked down Annabeth's cheek, and Leo felt the urge to give her a standing ovation.

"My friends and I... we were on an expedition during the attack, carrying out some tasks a teacher had asked us to do. We came back in the middle of the morning, and-" she took a shuddering breath "-and there was nothing left. The school was in ruins, the land ripped up, b-bodies everywhere." she gave a sob. "And then I... I saw Mr...Professor Brunner, our history teacher. He was still alive, but so badly hurt it was only a matter of time before he... Well, he told us what happened, and that the monsters would be coming back to make sure no-one was alive. He said we needed to get away, stay safe, and hide. He told us he knew about a school - the greatest school of magic in the world - somewhere in the United Kingdom. He was very near the end by that point. He - he didn't have enough strength to say anything else. He sent us here, though. We saw him die but we owe him our lives."

Dumbledore's gaze was trained solely on her, his hands as if in prayer under his chin. He had listened to the complete set of lies with attention, interest and increasing sympathy as it drew to an end. Everyone adopted suitably tragic expressions.

"Ah, my dear," he sighed, opening his hands and closing them gently. "Such a tragedy, and so sudden, too. All of you so young, so unused to war and loss."

Leo's jaw clenched, and he knew Percy, Nico, Jason and Frank would have similar reactions. The girls were a little more self-controlled, but Annabeth had to say something again quickly before this doddering old man said something that was stupid, cliché, insulting - or, as he had just superbly demonstrated, all three at once.

"Yet I cannot say I have ever head of this school," the wizard continued, oblivious to the rising tempers of the smarting demigods. "What did you say it was called?

"I didn't. It's called - _was _called - Mythomagic Institute." Annabeth replied without missing a beat.

"Mythomagic, hmm..." Dumbledore mused, tracing the ridges of the wood on his wand with his long fingers. For some reason that made Leo nervous. "You didn't mention where it was, my dear."

Annabeth winced in a convincing imitation of regret.

"Sorry," she said. "But when you join the school you have to take an oath not to speak of its whereabouts, it secrets, or even the staff. Our headmaster, Mr. Dee, said it's because these years are a lot more dangerous, for some reason. Monsters are increasing in number and Mythomagic was... Well, I guess you could say a little paranoid. They didn't want _any _information leaving it whatsoever, which means that we physically cannot tell you anymore about the school."

Leo nearly whistled. Holy jitterbugging Hera. This girl _was _good. Beyond good, even.

Beside her, Percy was wearing his best grief-stricken expression, but his eyes sparkled with amusement. Fortunately, Dumbledore's attention was still focused only on Annabeth.

He leaned back into his chair.

"Well, thank you, Miss... Chase, is it? It is unfair that you should have had to relive all that while explaining it to me, so again, I am grateful. I consider myself something of a good judge of character, and I can see a recent grief and loss in all of your faces, which is why I will choose to believe you." They all smiled at him, some of them a bit more forcibly than others. Grief, yes. Loss, certainly. But not as recent as mister Greybeard here thought.

Dumbledore smiled back, but raised a finger. "There are, however, a few details I have not yet grasped. You see, Hogwarts is surrounded by age-old magic boundaries, as strong and powerful as the foundations of the earth."

Leo doubted that, he'd met Gaea personally.

"They protect the school, prevent anyone from going to and fro without my permission, and most importantly, keep unwanted visitors out." He chuckled. "No implied insults there, I assure you. However, it would therefore be very tempting to say that your arrival here was impossible; and yet here you are." He spread his hands, as though he'd made a good point - which he had, for him. For the demigods... not so good.

This time it was Hazel who saved them.

"We used a portkey," she blurted. "I - I don't quite know how it worked, since your magic rules are supposed to stop even them from entering, but that's what we used... Look."

She reached inside her pocket and pulled out a torn, washed out, grubby... teddy bear? Leo almost laughed. Of course! One of Octavian's unfortunate victims. But what was it doing in Hazel's pocket, and most importantly, what in Tartarus was she talking about?

Leo exchange a glance with Annabeth. Her carefully neutral expression told him she had no clue either.

Dumbledore's silver eyebrows had shot up.

"A portkey?" He sounded astonished. "Are you sure?"

Hazel nodded and the others followed her lead.

"Fascinating..." the wizard murmured, stroking his beard. "Technically of course, even your answer is not sufficient explanation for this...this _extraordinary _feat. In theory Hogwarts' magical boundaries are designed to keep absolutely anything unwelcome out. By the laws of magic you should not be here - or even alive. Anything who tries to force the boundaries and cross the limits should be dead."

Leah gulped. Suddenly he was very glad they hadn't used the _Argo II _to get here. A demigod ship with a fire-breathing dragon and blazing celestial bronze ballistae definitely, even in his mind, entered the category of crossing-the-limits type machinery.

Then Percy spoke up.

"Maybe it wasn't magic," he suggested. "Maybe the portkey worked on technology instead. Leo here," he pointed his chin at Leo, "is an expert on anything to do with that, or machinery. Maybe he could look into it."

Leo tried to look interested and vaguely hopeful, but he couldn't stop himself from shooting a filthy glare in Percy's direction.

"Um... Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I could have a look if you like."

Percy was about to say something else, but Annabeth gave him a pointed _sh__ut up now _look. He was just about wise enough to obey.

Dumbledore's eyebrows were now reaching alarm-point, rising abnormally high on his wise old brow.

"Indeed?" he asked, incredulous. "Mythomagic must have had much to teach us, then. Here in Britain wizards have never succeeded in mixing technology with magic. The Muggles create wonderful things," he waved a hand around wistfully. "But they go haywire whenever they come in contact with magic. I remember once having bought an electric toothbrush; I put in the...- what are they called? The batteries, yes - but as soon as I switched it on, it started hopping around on the sink singing Celestina Warbeck's "_A __C__auldron __F__ull of __H__ot__, __S__trong __L__ove_" - which, marvellous tune as it is, was woefully inadequate for the task of brushing an old man's teeth."

Leo's mouth opened slightly in disbelief and horror. 'Muggles'? No technology? And he'd been so looking forward to making the suits of armour into automatons and programming his future wand to transform into a light sabre!

Meanwhile, Annabeth was giving her boyfriend a murderous look. Apart from _you just _had _to say the wrong thing didn't you__?_ it said _leave the talking to the smart ones__, __S__eaweed __B__rain_. The others, to their credit, successfully trained their features into polite masks of detached interest, but Leo had a nasty feeling Dumbledore's sharp eyes had seen Annabeth's glare.

"Still, no matter," he said loudly. "We have always maintained an amicable rivalry with our able allies the Americans. Perhaps this is an instance where Britain truly needs to up its level of investigation. Now, to business." he said briskly, leaning forward and peering at them over his weird glasses.

"You find yourselves without a school, across an ocean, with no immediate connections, in a nation that is, as I am sure you will have heard, increasingly dangerous since the dark wizard called Lord Voldemort has returned."

The nine demigods straightened and all their senses switched to full alert. At last, something they could relate to and talk about relatively confidently.

"Around fourteen years ago, Voldemort was destroyed trying to kill a boy he thought was a rival. His power backfired, and he has been no more than a mere shade since."

Leo glanced at Nico, their shade expert. The boy looked even paler than usual, but his dark eyes glittered under a brow furrowed in concentration.

"By any laws of nature he should have died, but alas, such was not the case, and he is now back, due to the successful use of Dark magic. The evidence shows that the whole population is in danger, which now that you have entered Europe also includes you. Nine American wizards and witches who travelled to England by an unknown force, and who claim to have succeeded in mixing muggle technology with wizard magic. That, my young friends, is what concerns me most. More so even then the issue of Hogwarts boundaries."

He paused. His aura of eccentric friendliness had dulled somewhat, and now he just looked like a tired, worried old man - with a horrid fashion sense.

"No doubt you will have heard of the progress in muggle technology, especially these days. I need not remind you of its power to make you understand how utterly catastrophic it would be for the entire world if Voldemort somehow got wind of this and decided to recruit all of you - willingly or not - for his army."

The nine demigods looked at each other. Frank and Thalia especially seemed tense, and Leo remembered that Frank had lost his mother to a war, and Thalia must have seen more than enough conflict in her time as a huntress to last for centuries. As for Leo's other friends...

Yeah. They all knew warfare. Even him - he'd helped build it.

Dumbledore spoke up again

"Then it is my duty, but also my honour and sincere hope that you will agree, to offer you a place at Hogwarts for whatever time it may take until Voldemort is defeated - until you graduate if that is your wish. As young wizards in the making, your safety is one of our primary concerns, and Hogwarts is known to be one of the safest places in the world, if not _the _safest. Your education must continue regardless of political affairs." Leo rolled his eyes. That had to be the most teacherly thing he'd ever heard in his life. "Now. Would you be willing to attend Hogwarts for the time being?"

The demigods, Leo included, gave him identical grins. Perhaps not ideal for teenagers who claimed to be the sole survivors of a very recent massacre, but Leo had a feeling Dumbledore expected them to express some enthusiasm. And after all, the first step to the mission Chiron had given them had been completed.

Dumbledore beamed, and the eccentric old wizard was back again.

"Excellent! Well, that's settled, then. As it happens our students arrive tonight, so you will join the sorting ceremony with the first years to determine which House you are in."

"House?" Nico asked, speaking for the first time.

"In Hogwarts students are sorted into four Houses. They are Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Slytherin and Hufflepuff. Each has its own attributes and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While Hogwarts is your sanctuary, your House will be like your extended family."

The demigods' mouths twitched. Oh, they knew about extended family, all right.

"Your triumphs will bring you points and credit to your house, whilst any rule breaking or failure to do the work will lose you points, and quite probably some respect from your housemates."

Leo noted how similar it was to the cabin system at their respective camps, back home.

"How will we be sorted?" Annabeth asked.

Dumbledore pointed to a shelf near his desk. It only had a misshapen piece of fabric crumpled on top of it, but Dumbledore seemed to think it answered Annabeth's question.

"The Sorting Hat." he said, helpfully (well, they hadn't known it was a hat).

Annabeth frowned.

"So, we put on the hat and it tells us which house we're in?" she clarified. She didn't sound convinced, but Dumbledore smiled in confirmation. "What criteria does it base its decisions on, then?" she asked, ever the curious daughter of Athena.

Dumbledore hesitated for a second.

"I... wouldn't want you to form an opinion as of yet Miss Chase." He said carefully. "Naturally, over the years some rivalry has arisen between some of the houses. It would be unfair on both yourselves and your future housemates to choose an opinion of the houses without knowing - as the saying says - both sides of the story."

Leo quirked an eyebrow. Ten drachmae that one or two of these houses were the equivalent of the Ares cabin back home: bullies, mean, and more brawn than brain.

"However," Dumbledore continued, "I recognize how unsettling it must be for you to be here, with no prior knowledge of our ways or culture. Very well. The houses are each known for their particular attributes. Gryffindors are brave and noble; Slytherins are ambitious and able to achieve said ambitions; Ravenclaws are intellectuals and offer some of the finest minds of the wizarding world; and lastly, but certainly not least, the Hufflepuffs are good and loyal - be friends with a Hufflepuff and you will have a friend for life."

There was a brief silence.

"Well, I'm obviously a Gryffindor." Leo said, hands in pockets and grinning. "Because I'm amazingly noble, heroic and handsome."

His friends laughed.

"Annabeth is definitely a Ravenclaw." Thalia said, smirking at her friend. "And Percy is a particularly dim-witted Hufflepuff."

Percy scowled.

"You're likely to be a Slytherin, the way you're placing everyone like they're pawns on a chessboard." he retorted.

Leo laughed.

"Besides, he's Gryffindor: they don't get any braver or more reckless than him." he said.

"I think that applies to Jason as well." Piper joined in, nudging her boyfriend, who tried to look modest.

"And Frank," Hazel said, gazing up at own boyfriend with such adoration that Leo was about to make a snide comment, but Dumbledore raised a hand for silence.

"And therein lies my point," he said quietly. "For centuries the four Houses of Hogwarts have coexisted in the school, partners and neighbours in every sense except the one that matters most: they have never truly been united, as one, in a way that would annul all rivalries and ensure only the best qualities of the students be used in times of great need. The students of Hogwarts, even before they attended the school, grew up listening to House stereotypes and rumours. As Americans, you have the advantage of being able to form opinions of your future Houses free of prejudice."

He eyed them all a little sternly. It was clear this wasn't a request, but an expectation. They all nodded. Dumbledore sat down with a flourish, pulling out a long sheet of yellowish paper and selecting a huge, striped feather from a special pencil-pot. It took Leo a second to process that the man actually intended to _write _with the feather. He nearly laughed, but just in time remembered that he was supposed to be solemn.

"Good. Now, to make things official, I'll take down your names, then send an order to Diagon Alley to get you some school supplies. They'll all be second-hand, I'm afraid, but the school fund will cover all expenses. You will also need uniforms," he told them, glancing at the purple and orange T-shirts. "Full length black robes, black hats and black cloaks. I assume you still have your wands?…"

Leo sent a panicky glance at Annabeth. Wands? Nobody had said anything about wands! But Annabeth, Hazel and Piper nodded confidently and patted their pockets.

"Good. Excellent. As for your families, I imagine they are still in America, though your tale makes it clear they do not yet know of the tragedy at Mythomagic, nor of your survival. As soon as we are done, we will provide you with means to contact them immediately. Furthermore, while you are at Hogwarts, since you are effectively here in sanctuary and I am headmaster, I will be your guardian. Any special queries, complaints or other matters of interest you can report to me. Any questions?"

It was strange, Leo thought, how this man seemed to cast off and adopt various attitudes in the same way that he would swap shirts - er, robes. So far, they had seen the wise but slightly weird old wizard, the history teacher, the psychiatrist, the lecturer and the businessman. Whatever he would be next, Leo hoped it wasn't a clown. He hated clowns, however much his friends called him one.

"Yes," Percy said. He took Annabeth's hand. "This housing system… Does this mean we'll get separated if we get sorted into different Houses?"

"In essence, yes." Dumbledore answered simply, lacing his fingers together. "You will be attending the same classes as your year in each of your Houses, sometimes joined by classes from other Houses. Each House has a common room, and adjoined are the dormitories of that House."

Percy paled a little, and squeezed Annabeth's hand a little tighter.

"So...We'll be apart?" He couldn't seem to get his head around that bit.

Dumbledore chuckled, a sympathetic twinkle in his clear blue eyes.

"I am afraid that all genders, in every year and every House, are separated, Mr. Jackson."

Percy blushed. So did Frank, and Jason. Leo just grinned. Nico rolled his eyes, while the girls remained unfazed.

"However," Dumbledore continued after a pause, "I do think we may have to make something of an exception from the general rules. Dormitories, you see, accommodate five boys or girls each, one room per year, and there are seven years. Amazingly, the number of available beds that we have always exactly matches the number of students we are expected to accommodate. But since you are here completely unexpectedly and from another continent altogether, you can understand we are not, ah... prepared. But no matter; I'm sure our Charms expert, Professor Flitwick, will be perfectly happy to adapt a corner of the castle to serve as your dormitories. Some of the house-elves will take care of the practicalities, and by the end of the welcoming feast everything should be ready and you will be able to move in."

Leo nodded along with the others, pretending he understood the last bit about charm and domestic Santa helpers.

"I will _insist__, _however," Dumbledore went on, "that any homework, indoor leisure activities and socialising take place in your respective common rooms. It is of the utmost importance that you should build ties or friendship with your future houses, as much for your sake as theirs: it is, sadly, quite rare for our students to have much contact with foreign wizards. You will be a benefit to them, as indeed they will be to you."

He fell silent and gave them a large, warm smile.

"I think that everything has been dealt with." He concluded happily. "Gentlemen, ladies, I welcome you to Hogwarts! I hope you will work to the best of your ability and will find happiness here."

There was a chorus of _T__hank you, sir_ and _W__e__'__re so grateful__. R__eally__._ Piper even used a tiny bit of her charmspeak, just to make sure their new headmaster got their message of innocent, genuine gratitude that couldn't possibly have anything to do with completing a secret mission.

"Thank you, professor," Piper said smoothly, with so much warm respect lacing her words it was tempting to say she wasn't even using her powers. "It was a great risk coming here, trusting magic that we didn't understand. And you are so kind to take us in - we'll do our best to live up to your expectations, I promise."

Dumbledore smiled gently.

"I'm very glad to hear that, Miss McLean."

There was a second of silence, then a strange rumble sounded across the room. Leo looked out of the window to check if Zeus had gotten offended or something, but the sky was clear.

Percy winced.

"Sorry," he said, "but did you mention a welcoming feast?"


	3. Acta Est Fabula

**Chapter 3**

**Author's Note:**

**Hi everyone. **

**Sorry. **

**I know I haven't updated for ages. I haven't for any of my fanfics for a while either though, in case that can make you feel any better.**

**Anyway, thank you EVER so much to Thalia-Saran, WhiteWinterStar, Fleury's Apprentice70, HungarianBaron, .562, yami2703, Lukas Le Stelle, Benevolent Dreamer, Some Guy, Guest and CinderAshTree, and to all you wonderful people who favourited and/or followed this story.**

** .562:**** Thank you so much for your input, that is a very valuable idea. I'll admit I'd never thought of anything of the sort, but the whole boggart thing is intriguing. Thank you!**

**Yami2703:**** That warms my heart, thank you :)**

**Benevolent Dreamer****: So. Nice. Of. You!**

**Some Guy****: Yep.**

***IMPORTANT NOTE*: Any outstanding issues that don't make sense within this story, please point them out to me, I'd be glad to rectify them in any way I can. I am already aware of some of them, and have a plan for most of them. But please feel free to nit pick and criticize: flames keep my feet toasty at night :)**

**Okay, here goes!**

* * *

The demigods were shown out of Dumbledore's office after receiving a very long and complicated list of instructions to Professor McGonagall's office. _Third right, second left, through the door that looks like it's part of the wall, ask permission to go past the painting on your left, duck behind the tapestry picturing Engo the Embezzled and carry on until you reach the corridor, then it's the fifth door to your left._

They carefully went down the spiral staircase (it made you dizzy if you looked at your feet too long, Percy found) and paused just outside next to the gargoyle, which had now returned to its place and was as immobile as it should be. The nine teenagers looked at each other, so overcome by recent events they barely knew what to think, let alone do or say.

"Wow." Leo said after a few moments. "Magic, huh?"

"Yeah." Annabeth said, shakily running a hand through her long curls. "That just about covers it."

"You were amazing up there." Percy told her. "I can't believe he actually-"

Annabeth slapped a hand on his mouth. She put a finger to her lips and her eyes flicked to the huge gargoyle and back. Percy remembered how it had reacted to McGonagall's voice and kept quiet.

"We should go to Professor McGonagall's office," Piper said loudly. "Professor Dumbledore said we had to set some details straight with her."

They hurriedly walked about halfway through the corridor until they reached a spot of wall vacant of portraits - who, they had discovered earlier, could communicate as well as move.

"We have to be really, really careful about what we say in public." Annabeth warned in a low voice. "The walls here literally have ears, and we never know who they might report to."

"I'll bet you anything that gargoyle repeats everything it hears to the headmaster." Thalia said grimly. Annabeth nodded, and Percy winced at how he'd very nearly blown their cover.

"I just wanted to say that you were incredible, when you told him that story," Percy mumbled, a bit sheepish. "You didn't even have to practice and you got it spot-on right. But I still can't believe he actually _fell _for it." he whispered. "He's the headmaster of the supposedly best school of magic in the world, surely he'd be a bit more probing with anyone who comes begging for a place out of the blue?"

"Well Annabeth _was _really believable, to be fair." Piper joined in. "And there shouldn't really be any reason for him to be so distrustful."

"Oh yeah, sure, nothing. Except that there's the most powerful dark wizard on the loose again. But no, he wouldn't try anything, would he?" Thalia said, rolling her eyes.

"But this is a school," Piper reasoned. "Why would he want to get inside here?"

"Because Harry Potter goes to school here." Annabeth reminded her quietly. "And if Dumbledore knows about the prophecy Chiron told us about, then there's a big chance he's fully aware of a potential attack on the school."

Piper's face fell.

"Oh yeah." she said. "I forgot about that."

"And I don't think Dumbledore really believed us anyway." Annabeth said, the corner of her mouth twitching in regret.

"What? But he totally did!" Leo exclaimed, his dark eyes widening. "We got in, didn't we? We got a place."

Annabeth fixed him with her _I'm-a-daughter-of-Athena-and-you're-clearly-not_ stare.

"Leo, have you ever heard the phrase _Keep you friends close and your enemies closer_?"

Identical expressions of concern spread across Thalia and Jason's faces.

"You think he suspects us?" Jason asked, the worry clear in his voice.

"Not exactly. I think he can't have become headmaster of this school without a great deal of skill and a brain of gold. I think that his cheery old teacher act is just that: an act. I think that he's seen enough in life to see danger everywhere. I think that he's first and foremost a teacher who wouldn't compromise the safety of students - meaning us - by spurning them when they could be telling the truth. I think he knows that in these early days of Lord Voldemort's return he has to keep his options open, and in our case that would mean giving us the benefit of the doubt, or at the very least letting us stay here to keep an eye on us."

Hazel delicately massaged her brow.

"So, in essence, we're already in danger of suspicion?" she surmised.

Annabeth shrugged.

"Not any more than we were an hour ago. Remember, there's nothing he can do to prove we're impostors: Chiron can supply us with evidence that we once went to an academy named Mythomagic, and legally Dumbledore can't eavesdrop on any conversations we have with our families - which he can't do anyway, because we'll be soliciting Iris' kind services."

"Her expensive services." Leo muttered. Hazel elbowed him in the ribs. "Ow!"

"Shush." she scolded him. "She's actually very nice. A bit health-and-fitness crazy, but nice. And helpful."

"Guys, we should carry on walking a bit." Frank said nervously, glancing around. "Anyone could come by."

So they walked on some more, alternately gawping at the moving portraits, arguing with stubborn doors and arguing with each other.

"No, it's _that _way." Thalia said, gesturing at a large tapestry on their right with her arm. "Dumbledore said to go behind a tapestry of...of Embezzlo, or something."

"Yeah, but only after we asked permission to go past a portrait." Percy replied, eyeing the wall covered with portraits of ancient witches and wizards. Some of them looked positively medieval, whereas others had posed in front of industrial factories, clearly having thought them to be exotic sites. "So... Which one, again?"

"Guys, it's this way." Hazel called out, nodding at the portrait of a matronly witch sitting primly in an old wicker chair. "The nice lady says we can go past."

Unaware of the proper wizarding way of thanking someone, Percy awkwardly waved at the witch in the portrait and followed Piper under the thick tapestry.

"Did we just ask a portrait permission to go under a wall carpet?" Percy muttered to Annabeth in an undertone.

She smirked.

"Get used to it, Seaweed Brain. I have a feeling we're gonna see a lot more of weird stuff around here."

Once they reached the end of the hidden passage behind the tapestry, no-one cold remember which way they were supposed to go.

"This way." Piper guessed, seeing lots of doors to her right and recalling something about the 'fifth door'.

"No, it's to the left." Hazel said, already walking the other way, were there were, in fact, even more doors than on the left.

"How do you know that?" Leo grumbled. "This place is impossibly complicated, and I've worked in Bunker nine for months."

"I'm usually good at finding my way," Hazel replied absently. "I suppose it comes with the rest of my...er, skills."

She glanced nervously at the walls, but luckily any portraits were few and far apart.

"Well, in that case, I'm sticking with you, girl." Leo said, catching up and nearly gluing himself to her, ignoring Frank's scowl. "I hate getting lost."

"So do I." Percy agreed. "Ever since that Labyrinth-"

He stopped himself in time, starting to get annoyed, both at himself and at the castle. He had a nasty feeling the year was going to be long and frustrating if they couldn't say what they liked when they liked.

They found McGonagall's door within seconds, and Jason was about to knock when Nico suddenly called out. He was hanging back a little, and in the shadow of a suit of armour he looked like his old self: dark, gaunt and depressed. He beckoned to them silently.

"Before we go in there." he said. "There's something you should know."

"What? The door's gonna eat our fingers if we knock on it?" Thalia asked.

"No. Dumbledore can read minds."

Silence.

Percy wasn't sure he'd heard that right.

"Excuse me?"

"Dumbledore can read minds." Nico repeated. "He looked at me straight in the eye and... I felt him trying to read my thoughts while Annabeth was telling our, erm...back-story."

"Uh..._felt _him?" Piper asked uncertainly.

"Yeah, like there was suddenly someone else inside my head. He didn't say anything, but I could sense him there." He looked annoyed at their doubtful expressions. "Look," he said. "I know my own mind. Before the whole Gaea business, it was pretty much my one companion, so I know when someone's messing with it. Dumbledore can read our thoughts, I'm telling you."

"Actually," Hazel said, softly. "I do believe you, Nico. Lou Ellen told me the children of Hecate sometimes use something similar. It's not easy, and only the most powerful of her children can actually do it, but it does exist."

Leo groaned.

"Oh, great. Caretaker nearly puts us in corporal detention. Intimidating witch looks like she wants to set us lines. Headmaster suspects us. Headmaster can read minds. Just brilliant. And we've been here what, an hour?"

Nico stayed grave as Percy and Thalia smirked in spite of the truth in Leo's words.

"Just don't look him in the eye." he said seriously, and Hazel nodded in agreement.

"Eye contact is essential when trying to read someone's thoughts." she said. "If you don't meet his eye, your thoughts should be reasonably safe so long as you don't speak them aloud."

"Answers your question, though." Percy said to Annabeth. "We know he tried to verify our story." He turned to Nico. "What were you thinking about when he tried to read your mind?"

The son of Hades smirked.

"Nothing much. Only how horrible his outfit was. As soon as I felt him there, I - er...may have been slightly discourteous as I told him to leave. But I didn't think of anything demigod-ish, don't worry."

Annabeth looked worried.

"I never imagined anything like this." she said, frowning in concern. "Just to be on the safe side, if he ever questions us about our school again, just think as hard as you can of what Camp looked like after Gaea was defeated. We can't afford getting discovered that stupidly."

"Okay." Thalia said. "But we really should go in now. Likely any professors will come around the corner and ask us what we're doing. It's not like we want any other problems coming our way."

Piper snorted, and Percy shared the sentiment: demigod life wasn't about avoiding problems coming your way, demigod life was problems coming your way all the damn time.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Prof. Minerva McGonagall was supervising the last of the letter-sending when the nine American students knocked on her office door. Parchments were flying everywhere, flitting and floating in apparent chaos, but each of them knowing exactly which corner of the table to go to, which envelope to seal itself in, and which colour ink to write on itself with (green for the halfbloods, blue for the purebloods, black for the muggle-born). Hot purple wax diligently spilled itself from a charmed-hot metal bowl, followed by her needlessly-huge Hogwarts official seal pressing itself in to the soft wax. The process was long, complex, desperately in need of attention and exactly what Minerva needed - anything to distract her mind from the tortuously numerous questions erupting the more she thought about the new students. It was all to much of a bloody coincidence, excuse her French, for nine of them - _nine _of them - to literally pop up on their doorstep just _days _after Sibyll's rapture-state and doom prophecy about the fate of magic swinging in the void.

She had a mind to talk to Dumbledore about them. She had a mind to talk to Dumbledore about Sibyll. She had a mind to rant to him about that pink toad, too. She had a mind to talk to Dumbledore of just about anything so long as he did not keep her in the dark in this preposterous and thoroughly bemusing situation.

Since Sibyll's prophecy (because whatever her colleagues said, Minerva was damn well sure it was one) nothing much had happened. Well, nothing important. The toad-extraordinaire had arrived, with twelve suitcases all charmed different shades of pink. Of course, Dumbledore had welcomed her with open arms, a wide smile and a some warm words. Sometimes Minerva really could not decide if the man was an excellent actor verging on a complete hypocrite, or a man who truly believed in seeing only the best in everyone.

In any case, they were inordinately lucky that Umbridge had not yet seen the nine new arrivals. If she had... Minerva shuddered at the implications. Ministry inquiries, paperwork nightmares, auror-led investigations as to the safety of Hogwarts' borders. She could already see the newspaper article in the Daily Prophet, signed Rita bloody Skeeter. '_Hogwarts Break-In!_' and '_Is Hogwarts _truly_ safe?_'

She sighed. Why did crises (Dumbledore always called them surprises, but she stood her ground on that) always happen at this time of year? First the matter of eleven year old Harry Potter's Hogwarts letters never managing to reach their recipient, then that elf's meddling with the Charring Cross portal, followed by Potter's very near shave with the Ministry after quite literally blowing his aunt up. And it hadn't stopped there, she recalled, both with fondness and grim exasperation. The Quidditch Cup fiasco, Moody's abduction the day after that (although of course they hadn't known about that then)...and a few days ago, Potter saving his cousin's life!

But he'd been cleared, so that was at least some good news. Those American students, on the other hand...

Who were they? Why were they here? _How _had they got here, come to that?

And, as Minerva's occasionally too-retentive mind kept tossing back at her, like a ball on those pang-pang tables those Muggles liked to play (or was it pong-pong? No. Ping-pang? Ping-pong! That was it.) - why _nine _of them?

_Nine shall react, and nine will return..._

Sometimes, Minerva hated prophecies. To be fair she'd only heard one or two in her life, but it was the principle of the things she found hard to get to grips with. Why give the inquisitive, arrogant and sometimes woefully stupid human race a glimpse of the future if it could never be a) changed, b) prevented, or c) ever, _ever_ interpreted correctly?

It was like making a student prepare for an exam, then ambiguously predict his future performance, and then leaving them to agonize over it for days while you pushed them even harder in their studies. The student would be likely to interpret the 'prophecy' as his imminent failure and give up all effort because what would be the point, if he failed/passed regardless of what they did?

Minerva's brain was still mulling full-speed over the problem at hand. _Nine shall react_... _Across the sea... _Americans - they lived across an ocean, didn't they? There had been a whole bunch of figurative epithets in the prophecy, but Minerva recalled something about a stag. Young Potter's patronus was a stag, and she'd always known, deep down, under her belief (or perhaps hope?) that the Dark Lord had gone, that Harry would have a role in a second war against him, should there ever be one.

Could it possibly mean that the time was at hand, that Harry was going to find a way to defeat Voldemort? Could the arrival of these American teenagers be what the prophecy had warned? Were they meant to help Harry, give him some sort of secret weapon that the English wizarding world did not possess or even dream of?

Were they meant to _protect _the boy?

Minerva shook her head. No, she was being silly. Most of the adolescents she'd seen earlier had been two years older than Potter at the most. They were barely out of childhood themselves, and Minerva refused to believe that nine more troublemakers would be more efficient at protecting the Boy-Who-Lived that two, namely Weasley and Granger.

At that moment, there was a knock on the door. Minerva called for whoever it was to come in, expecting to see Filch come to whine at her for robbing him of his castigator's rights and privileges. Instead, a head covered in long, curly blonde hair peeked round the door. Minerva blinked.

"Excuse us, Professor." the girl said, in her foreign, slightly drawling but not unpleasant accent, "Professor Dumbledore told us to come here to sort some details out with you."

Minerva blinked again. Me? She thought.

"Me?" she said.

The girl nodded.

"Yes. We're new pupils, and Professor Dumbledore told us to come to you to straighten matters concerning student data. He didn't mention anything specific, but..." she trailed off, at a loss of what else to say. Minerva could see she had no idea of what else was to come.

The girl dithered on the threshold, clearly waiting for permission to come inside.

"Fine." Minerva said curtly, waving her in and watching as her fellow 'new students' filed in behind her. Any talking among them stopped as they entered, and they stared, wide-eyed, at the dozens of flying parchments rocketing around her office, accelerating now that the process was nearing completion. Regretfully, for it meant that the complicated task would have to wait even more (she was already late, according to Prof. Pink's rose-scented note sent and received three days ago. Funnily enough, Minerva had since found the smell of roses quite repelling) Minerva waved her wand, and all parchments froze in mid-air until she instructed them to gently float back to their respective piles.

"Well," she started to say, before pausing and waving her wand again, conjuring nine straight-backed chairs. "We might as well sit down, this is likely to take a while. Now, tell me, have you been sorted?"

They shook their heads. The one in the middle, with pointed features, curly black hair and an air about him that screamed _Fred and George! _at her was staring at her sleeve, where she'd slipped her wand. Minerva ignored him.

"Professor Dumbledore said we would get sorted along with the first-years." the blonde girl explained.

Minerva frowned. With the first-years? But these students were much older, some were close to being wizarding adults! She wasn't much of a pedagogue, but being sorted along with terrified eleven-year-olds sounded like somewhat of a humiliating experience, even to her. She added it to the ever-increasing list of thing she wanted to discuss with Albus.

"We'll see about that when we get to it, then." she decided. "However, to get a head-start on your schedules, it will be helpful to know your names, followed by your ages. Start from the right."

"Percy Jackson, sixteen."

"Annabeth Chase, sixteen."

"Frank Zhang, fifteen." Minerva nearly voiced a comment, but mastered her surprise. Merlin's spectacles, the boy looked seventeen!

"Hazel Levesque, fourteen."

"Leo Valdez, sixteen." said the Weasley Twin look-alike. "What's that?" he asked, pointing at something on her desk. "Does it do anything?"

Minerva considered the question, and then the object itself. It was a fine paperweight: the silver effigy of the Scottish emblem, thistles and all, coated with velvet on the bottom and charmed not to tarnish. Heavy, solid and reliable. A shared gift from Albus, Pomona and Filius six years beforehand.

"I rather think that as a paperweight, it weighs down paper, Mr. Valdez." she answered crisply.

"Oh." he sounded disappointed.

"Next." Minerva said, punctuating her statement with a decisive jot on her notes.

"Piper McLean, sixteen." the bronze-skinned girl said. Her eyes were a little unnerving. Minerva had caught sight of them earlier, and could not decide what colour they were. She put it down to Fiddleton's Fancy-Eyes Film (_Glam up your eyes like a Muggle!_ read Witch Weekly. Not that Minerva ever read such rubbish, let alone remembered it).

"Jason Grace, sixteen."

"Thalia Grace, fi- sixteen."

"Twins, then?" Minerva asked, still scribbling on her notes. There was a very slight pause. She looked up. The blond boy, Jason, was grinning at the annoyed girl who was clearly his sister. Apart from the obvious clue of their surnames, they had the same eyes and something similar about the jawlines and the straightness of their features. On the boy, it looked right in a regal, sort of militaristic way. It gave the girl, however, a slight rough edge, one that was not unknown among some of the less, ah...delicate female Slytherin students.

"Yes." the girl said, finally. "Twins." she clearly resented the fact.

"And you?" Minerva asked the last boy, who was so pale and silent that he'd almost become part of the décor.

"Nico di Angelo, fifteen." he announced quietly. Minerva quickly looked back to her notes and noted that down too; his dark eyes were a little too intense for her comfort - they reminded her slightly of Severus Snape's.

Once the dates of birth were sorted out, it added up to this: Jackson, Chase, Valdez, McLean, Grace and Grace in sixth year; Levesque, Zhang and di Angelo in fifth year. The nine teenagers seemed pleased at the result, and the pale yet oddly dark di Angelo boy even shot a look of what appeared to be relief at Miss Levesque. She smiled back at him warmly, her golden eyes lighting up like a candle. Minerva found herself wondering why nearly all of these new pupils had such striking eyes: never in all her years of teaching had she seen such an optic cocktail.

"One last personal detail. What Blood Status are you?"

"Er...Blood Status?" Annabeth Chase asked uncertainly.

Minerva could feel the beginning of a headache coming.

"Yes." she said, rubbing her forehead and trying not to sigh. "Pure-blood? Muggle-born? Half-blood?"

"Half-blood." they chorused immediately.

"All of you?" she was surprised. Well, well. America certainly had a lot to teach to most of England's stuck-up pure-blood families. Old blood and money were all very well and good (well not really, but that wasn't her point) but there was nothing wrong with some new, fresh muggle blood from time to time. It was thanks to the Muggles that wizards hadn't died out, for Nimueh's sake. She jotted the information down and mentally scanned through what needed to be discussed before she could dismiss them.

"Has Professor Dumbledore suggested any arrangements for your dormitories?" she asked them , briskly shuffling some papers around on her desk. She hoped he had. Minerva herself really wasn't feeling up to the task of working out a way in which nine students could be accommodated without enlarging the millennia-old house dormitories.

"Yes." the Chase girl answered immediately. She rather reminded Minerva of Miss Granger, the way she always seemed to have an answer for everything. "He said that another part of the castle would be - er, modified to suit our needs."

Minerva nodded. Sensible, and typically pragmatic of Dumbledore. No doubt Filius would be taking charge of the procedures; maybe she would offer her own help in Transfiguring parts of the castle that remained stubbornly impermeable to change.

"Right, well there isn't much more now that can be decided, not while you still haven't been sorted. Classes are arranged so that different houses of the same year can take them together and alternate class partners with each subject. So you might find yourselves with Hufflepuffs in Astronomy, or with Slytherins in Potions, for example. Transfiguration, Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts are usually with your own housemates only, though that may change now that your arrivals have upped the number of students."

"Sorry." mumbled the boy with black hair next to Miss Chase. Earlier when she'd found them with Filch in the corridor, it wasn't until Minerva looked at him properly that she realized he wasn't Harry Potter. Now that she was closer and talking to him, Minerva didn't really know why she'd mistaken them in the first place. The two boys shared the same sort of dishevelled black hair and they both had green eyes, but the similarities ended there. This boy - Jackson, if she remembered correctly - was taller, his skin was more tanned, and he carried himself a lot more confidently - much like James Potter had, actually. Harry Potter seemed timid in comparison, though Minerva knew from experience that he was capable of much more than he looked.

She waved his apology away.

"Not much either of us can do about it now, Mr. Jackson. I will, however, brief you on the rules here at Hogwarts. No doubt in America your schools will have had similar regulations, but we cannot afford, especially in theses troubled times, any slip-ups, especially if they lead to bigger problems."

And didn't she know that, she thought.

"Firstly, no magic outside of classes or common rooms. You may need to practice charms and incantations for homework, but any flying hex or 'accidental' jinx gone wrong will get you straight to your Head of House and lose you points. I need not also point out that any magic outside of the appropriate areas endangers your fellow students as well."

They nodded rather deferentially. Minerva had slipped into her teacher-mode without even realizing it - she was wont of doing so every now and again.

"Secondly, I expect every single one of you to respect students from other houses as though they were in your own. Over the years, there has always been a certain amount of rivalry between the houses, but sometimes they cross limits completely and end in pointless, harmful incidents that bear shame on our school. Such silly rivalries, competitions and gratuitous maliciousness have never been anything other than futile and detrimental to the unity of our school. The nine of you will no doubt be separated among the four houses, and I expect you to maintain any and all of the friendship ties that exist already among you."

She eyed them severely. They looked mostly bemused, but Miss Chase seemed thoughtful, and the Grace girl looked ready to roll her eyes. Minerva considered it a credit to her own presence that she did not.

"Also, as you no doubt will know by now, Hogwarts is universally recognized to be the best school of magic there is. Professor Dumbledore did you a great honour to grant you a place here, and I expect you all to work to the best of your ability and prove you are worthy of said honour. We do not usually accept foreign students among our regular pupils, unless they have lived in the United Kingdom for five years prior to their entry at Hogwarts. You will therefore occupy a somewhat privileged position, and no doubt other wizarding folk overseas will try to obtain similar placements their own children, should any talk of your situation reach them. I thus expect you to stay modest on the circumstances that brought you here, heedless of what they may be. Any boasting, abusing of your position as foreign students or pointless gossip about this will, believe me, be severely dealt with. "

She paused, wishing that she herself knew the precise workings of how and why they were here. It was all very well to order them not to talk too much about the circumstances of their presence, but in that matter they were spectacularly more informed than she was, which placed her at a distinct disadvantage. Another thing to add to her Talk-to-Albus list.

Percy Jackson and Jason Grace both had slight frowns creasing their foreheads. Jackson looked annoyed, a look Minerva was familiar with: it was the look many students sported when they were being lectured or reproached on something that had, supposedly, nothing to do with them. Jason Grace, in many ways, seemed like the polar opposite of Mr. Jackson, in looks as well as attitude so far. If anything, Minerva would have sworn he looked slightly affronted at her suggestion that he would voluntarily cause trouble. She knew better than to trust appearances, however. Distrust and good observation skills were practically job 'musts' for a Hogwarts Professor.

"Which school do you come from?" she asked before she even knew she was going to.

"Mythomagic Institute ." Percy Jackson said promptly. "We can't tell you where it is, obviously - all schools protect their location."

Minerva was surprised, and that didn't happen often.

"Yes, indeed, but... Mythomagic? I can't say I've ever heard of it. Who is your headmaster?"

"Our principal is - _was _\- Mr. D." the Chase girl answered. Her voice was tight, all of a sudden, and Minerva sensed their was much more to all this than first met the eye. Still, she was impressed.

"Dee, you say? You don't mean a relation of _John _Dee, the famous alchemyst from the Elizabethan era?"

They looked at her blankly. Minerva saw an opportunity to do a tiny bit of extra teaching.

"The Muggles thought of him more as an astrologer and a so-called psychic, you know, but he was a wizard. The man was a genius. He managed to get close to Elizabeth I in the best years of her reign and remained in her favour until his death, all the while concealing his magic self from the eyes of the muggle world. Very powerful, too. Some claim he was descended from Merlin himself."

"I don't know..." Miss Chase replied, glancing at her friends. "Maybe... Mr D. was quite powerful too, he could do all sort of stuff, but he never mentioned any special ancestors."

"We weren't very close to him anyway." Jackson said. "He was our principal, we were his students, and woe betide anyone who crossed him. That's all there really is to know."

Minerva eyed him speculatively. He was being remarkably blasé and closed off about all this, which seemed odd considering Miss Chase was so eager to answer her questions as well as possible. She had a feeling she and Miss Granger would get along if they got to know each other.

"Were you all at the same school, then?" she asked, this time looking at the other side of the row, who were distinctly quieter.

Some nodded, some shrugged and some hesitated. Minerva nearly threw her hands up in the air. Why was it teenagers were never capable of giving a straight, informative answer? It wasn't as though the questions were _hard_. She removed her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Merlin knew she had better things to do than extricating information from foreign students who were inexplicably reluctant to give it to her.

"What do you mean, nod, shrug, don't know?" she asked, her eyes closed and her nostrils flaring. Her students at Hogwarts all knew that was always a sign of danger, but these students didn't. Perhaps she should demonstrate and thus warn them for the entirety of their stay, and quite possibly their entire lives.

"Well, Thalia, Jason, Leo and me-"

"Leo and _I_." Minerva corrected tiredly.

"Right." Piper McLean blushed a little and carried on quickly. "The four of us did go to the same school, but Thalia... Er, her story's complicated, 'cause she sort of left, and Nico only just joined-"

"And we're new, too." Frank Zhang said, gesturing at Miss Levesque and himself. "We used to go to the same school as Jason, but we recently moved to Camp - I mean, to Mythomagic." he blushed, too. Minerva could have sworn Chase shot him a look that was less than benevolent.

"Is it common for students to move between systems in America, then?" she asked, genuinely curious. If students did that in the UK, their only other option would be to go to another country, whereas the United States clearly had more than one school. It was very rare, because switching schools often involved the learning of a whole foreign language from scratch, and could be extremely harmful to their academic careers.

All nine of the students shrugged, and Minerva gave up.

"Fine, fine. You lot truly are the most uncommunicative group of pupils I have ever had the exhaustion to meet."

The Hispanic-looking boy, Valdez, grinned.

"Thank you, Professor."

"Mr. Valdez, while like any other human being I enjoy a bit of humour every now and again, I must warn you now, I am thoroughly immune to sarcasm," she informed him in a tone devoid of any emotion, courtesy of having said more or less the same thing a hundred times during her career. "And any fun, playing around, horseplay or smart-aleck remarks, never, I repeat, _never_ occur during my lessons. That is not a warning, it is a fact."

Valdez shrank back a little (the nostrils were doing their job, Minerva noted with satisfaction) and nodded meekly, despite mumbling that he wasn't being sarcastic. Percy Jackson and Frank Zhang were casting her admiring looks, apparently in awe at her ability to make the troublemaker of their gang shut up.

"Now. I suggest you leave presently, and explore the castle while it's still empty. The feast is still in a few hours, in fact-" she looked at the grandfather's clock on her wall, "-it's in four hours' time. That leaves you plenty of opportunity to explore the castle, the library, the grounds, whatever you like so long as you stay within the boundaries. The castle of Hogwarts is, as you may have noticed, quite big, so take careful note of where you start from and where you go. It's always confusing at first because nothing ever seems to stay in one place, but one soon gets used to it. I will take you to the Great Hall and leave you to yourselves. When Professor Flitwick and I have finished your quarter arrangements, I will ask some of the portraits to send for you."

They nodded eagerly, and after vanishing the chairs they were sitting on Minerva led them down to the Great Hall, quietly wondering why they were so amazed at what they were seeing. The moving/talking portraits were always a hit, of course, but usually only with the muggle-borns, and students with at least one wizarding parent weren't often unfamiliar with things like moving staircases, enchanted objects and facilities that were sensitive to week days or phases of the moon. She asked Miss Chase about it while they were walking along a corridor, having to halt a few times so that some of the new students could pull away their friends from staring at various things.

"Oh, Hogwarts is just incredibly different to Mythomagic." the girl answered, herself apparently spellbound by the majesty of the castle's interior. "For one thing it's not a huge castle like this one, it's lots of little cabins clumped together, a bit like a village - that's why we sometimes call it Camp instead of school, 'cause it looks more like summer camp than an academic environment. Only the principal's house is big, and students don't often go in there unless there's some sort of assembly or if they're in trouble."

"Speaking of trouble," Minerva said in an undertone, "Mr. Filch will no doubt be annoyed that I robbed him of a chance to exert some sort of punishment on you and your friends. My advice is to stay away from him as much and for as long as possible."

Piper McLean made slight face of disgust. She'd joined in their conversation a couple of times to ask questions of her own.

"I was counting on that." she muttered.

It could never be said that Minerva McGonagall ever spoke ill of her colleagues, nor did she encourage any such talk, so she pretended not to hear and stared straight ahead, calling loudly for the boys to catch up.

0o0o0o0o0o0

Annabeth bit her lip as Professor McGonagall turned her back on them and wished them luck on their explorations. She didn't like their situation so far. Percy would tell her to relax and go with the flow, but she was so high-strung that she jumped every time someone spoke to her. Yes, they'd gotten in to Hogwarts, but there was so much that could go wrong at any given time - what if McGonagall went straight to Dumbledore and demanded proof for everything they'd said? What if Dumbledore himself hadn't believed them?

Actually, she knew he hadn't believed her completely, she was sure of it. He was far too blasé about the whole matter: when they entered his office he'd been courteous, but cold and business-like, yet as soon as she started to explain their situation, her lies had suddenly made him interested enough to offer them a place at his school! There was something fishy about all of this, and Annabeth didn't know what. She hated not knowing.

Percy put his arm around her.

"Aw, stop worrying, Annabeth." he said, squeezing gently. "I know you think no-one here believes us, but think about it - and not just the logical side of it, take in the moral stuff as well: Dumbledore couldn't very well reject us once he'd seen that we penetrated the boundaries, he's far too curious to let us go. And despite who we are and what we've done, to him we're just a bunch of kids. He wasn't going to send us on our way while we were away from our families and in a complete different country. You're thinking about it too much."

"But it's all so strange." she whispered "He knows something, Percy, I'm sure of it. He didn't even press us too much even he saw how vague our answers about crossing the borders."

"Maybe he's just used to students being uninformative," Percy told her. "Gods know he would be, this place is huge. How many students d'you think come here?"

"Stop trying to distract me," she muttered. "This is serious."

"And so am I." he said earnestly. "I know this is difficult, but we've all been through worse, and we're all here together."

He cupped her cheek in his hand.

"You say Dumbledore doesn't believe us, I say who cares? The man looks like he's as old as Chiron - he knows what he's doing. Chiron would've told us if the headmaster here was an enemy. The best we can do is play along: we wanted him to accept us, that's what he's doing. He wants us to think he believes us, that's what we're going to pretend. Either way, where's the problem? I mean, practically speaking we have a divine messaging system, two armies of demigods behinds us and an aeon-old centaur as our tutor. What can these medieval little people do?"

Annabeth laughed a little shakily and poked him in the ribs.

"Okay, I get it, but stop insulting our hosts, you're being rude."

"Can we go explore this place now?" Leo asked, nearly bouncing with excitement. "I wanna see everything."

"Good luck with that." Thalia muttered. "See you in three years' time."

"First things first," Annabeth said, back to business. "Our first stop is a bathroom, or an ancient stained-glass window, or anything else that can create a rainbow. We need to contact Chiron asap."

They would need evidence of their education at Mythomagic very soon, she knew. No school in the world, no even a wizarding one, would accept students without demanding some sort of identity proof. There was also the problem of wands, they didn't have any, and luggage - wasn't there any way at all they could get some of their clothes from home?

Leo bounded up the nearest staircase, flying up the stairs and examining the ledge once he reached the top, clearly intent on finding out exactly how those moving chunks of marble managed to move so silently and easily, and on an apparently completely random basis. Annabeth couldn't help but smile as he peered at the white marble handrail, his nose nearly touching the stone.

"Not a mechanism, it can't be...no noise...Magnetic attraction?"

"Leo, I hate to say this, but I don't think you'll find a logical solution to this: it's magic. All of it."

Leo looked up, frustration written on his usually merry features.

"I know," he said, "but magic has to have a source of power from _somewhere_. You can't have movement without stimuli, the way you can't read a book without opening it. If it moves, there's a reason. In this case it's magic, but what's the cause for magic?"

"Hecate." Hazel answered, smiling faintly. "She's the one at the origin of all this, Leo."

Leo huffed but didn't answer.

They explored for a good half-hour, marvelling at the wonders Hogwarts seemed to be entirely made of. Nearly every wall had a portrait on it, nearly every portrait had a person in it, and nearly every painted person threw a remark their way, demanding to know why they were here early, why they were wearing such strange clothes, why the girl with the ungodly short black hair was carrying a bow and quiver (that freaked them out, and they fled without answering, the old wizard in the portrait croaking at them to come back). There seemed to be no end to the twists and turns the castle offered, and every time they entered a new corridor, or they opened a door long enough to slip past, or they climbed another flight of stairs, there was no way of keeping track: as soon as they tried to mark their passage by memorizing a crooked suit of armour or leaving a mark of soot on a gargoyle's pedestal (Leo provided the sparks) the castle somehow appeared to morph and erase all traces of their presence, leaving them dumbfounded, hopelessly lost and increasingly desperate.

When this happened for the third time, Nico got so fed up he gave a sort of snarl and summoned a ball of black fire in his hand and prepared to lob it at a frustratingly non-cooperative statue. Jason stopped him, grabbing his arm quickly and lowering it.

"Careful." he said. It was enough.

Nico shot Jason a dark look and snatched his arm back, moodily turning his back on him and going to lean against the wall. He picked at the studs on a leather bracelet he had on his arm, ignoring everyone else.

Annabeth knew that if Nico was showing signs of restless impatience, his black mood would soon affect everyone else, and the last thing they wanted right now was an argument.

"Hey," she said. "It's okay. We could all do with a rest. Let's find somewhere to sit down."

They found an alcove with a couple of benches large enough for all of them to sit down. There were no paintings near them, so they were free to talk of what they liked, but Annabeth hated the feeling that someone, or _something_, might pop up at any moment and hear them talking. She'd read a lot of fiction among all her academic work, and sometimes there had been passages in books where the protagonist was being searched for, or even hunted. The character was always described as running or crouching, out of sight, their heart beating so loud they were sure someone would be able to hear it. But when Annabeth was the prey in similar situations - and the Fates knew how many she'd been in - her heart always felt like it was still, her body even more so. She was always as tense as Thalia's bowstring, and twice as likely to snap if something surprised her. She hated feeling hunted, even now, when she knew there wasn't really anything chasing her.

She squeezed Percy's hand tightly, trying to tell him how glad she was that he was here with her, how much she loved him and how scared she was that this would turn out badly. Her thoughts were irrational, she knew: of course it would turn out badly. When you were a demigod, it was only a matter of time.

"Hey, what do you think Muggles are?" Jason asked suddenly. "Both Dumbledore and McGonagall mentioned it a couple of times, but I have no idea what it is."

"It sounded like it's a name for a certain type of people." Hazel said, leaning her head against Frank's shoulder. "When McGonagall asked us what blood status we were - whatever that is - she said pure-blood, half-blood or muggle something."

"Muggle-born." Annabeth recalled. It was painfully obvious what Muggles were.

"They're non-magical people." Nico said unexpectedly. Usually he stayed out of a conversation as if his life depended on it. "That dead guy I saw in the underworld, the one who was a wizard, he said something about Muggles, I remember now..."

"Yeah, that's what I thought." Jason said, his brow creasing slightly. "Pure-blood probably means that you're fully connected to wizards, and half-blood that only one of your parents is magical. But 'Muggle' sound a bit derogatory, doesn't it? I mean, why give people a name just because they don't have magic? And why make it sound so...simple?"

"I imagine it started as a nickname." Annabeth said, thoughtful. "In the twentieth century, when the Nazi movement began to rise, the party members weren't called the Nazis but the German Nationalist Socialists. It was only when other countries started to critically call them 'Nazis' that the name stuck, but only because they welcomed the name and glorified in its meaning."

"Typical." Thalia snorted.

"Yeah, but the Muggles didn't deliberately adopt the name," Leo said, frowning. "They don't even know about the wizarding world."

"Which means that wizards deliberately call normal people something that makes them sound childish and dumb?" Piper asked, looking disgusted.

Annabeth hesitated.

"I don't think it works quite like that." she said. "You saw Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall. They mentioned Muggles like they were perfectly part of ordinary life - I don't think they meant anything by it. Or _they _don't, anyway. McGonagall asked us our blood status like she was asking our ethnic origin. For all we know, it's perfectly normal information to give whenever things turn administrative."

"And we have names for people as well," Percy pointed out. "We're... you know, demigods." he whispered. "And normal humans are mortals."

"Yeah, but those names actually explain what people are." Thalia argued. " 'Demigod' is a status, not a name, and 'mortal' doesn't sound mean or patronizing, it's simply stating that they die at some point while immortals don't."

"I agree." Annabeth said. "But if we're going to fit in here, we should use the term like everyone else."

She could see by their expressions that they weren't happy with it, but it wasn't like they had any choice.

"Don't you think we'll stand out if we're all half-bloods?" Piper asked, looking anxious. "McGonagall looked surprised when we all said that."

Annabeth shrugged.

"Statistical oddity, cultural differences, extra attraction between magical and non-magical people in America, who cares? She can't exactly prove us wrong, and she doesn't have motive to."

"She could." Frank mumbled. "Prove us wrong, I mean. All she'd have to do is look up our names on the American register of wizards, if there is such a thing."

"In which case Chiron will no doubt pull some strings and get our names on there. Actually they're probably already there if it works by magic," Annabeth mused, "seeing as Hecate herself gave us these new powers. And if she's still not happy, she'll have a hard time finding parents for those of us who don't have any, and if she does find some they can tell her without doubt that their partner was, ah...special."

"Speaking of powers," Leo said, as everyone nodded at Annabeth's words, slightly reassured. "Dumbledore has a wand, and he asked us if we still had one. But we, um... don't. How does that work out?"

Annabeth hesitated and didn't answer. Hazel did.

"I think Hecate would've thought of that if it were a problem." she said. "The best thing is probably just to wait. It would've been suspicious if we _all _lost our wands before we came here."

"Great. So tomorrow in class we'll just be like, _No, sorry Professor, I can't turn my hair purple, my wand seems to have skipped off_." Leo snorted.

Annabeth was starting to get annoyed.

"Well, we can't do anything about it just now." she retorted, slightly snappishly. "What is it, Leo? We've been on quests before, and nothing ever goes according to plan - why is it so new to improvise as we go along?"

He held up his hands.

"Geez, lady." he said. "Fine. I get it. No wands, no problem. No clue about wizards, no problem. No proof for lies, no problem. I'll shut up."

Annabeth rolled her eyes and didn't push it.

They talked quietly for few more minutes, occasionally glancing down the corridor to check if anyone was coming their way - though why they were so tense, even Annabeth wasn't too sure, they hadn't seen anyone apart from Filch, McGonagall and Dumbledore so far. Finally though, they got up and started to look for a bathroom, which they decided was their best option to create a rainbow away from prying eyes. They came down a couple of floors and asked a portrait for directions to the nearest bathroom. The young and pretty witch in it gave the boys in the group a once-over and simpered at them, ignoring Annabeth's questions and batting her eyelashes at Jason especially. The son of Zeus looked uncomfortable, and Piper very deliberately put his arm around her waist, glaring at the witch, who shrugged and turned to Nico instead.

"Good den, young sir." she said, coyly. "What bringeth you here?"

Nico looked dumbfounded, and opened his mouth to answer but no sound came out. Instead his pale cheeks flushed slightly and Annabeth couldn't help but grin a little.

"Never mind who he is, I'm Leo Valdez!" Leo bubbled, predictably. He planted himself right in front of the witch and gave her his (he apparently thought) most charming smile.

"So, er...lovely witch that you are, where's the bathroom, please?" he asked.

The witch in the portrait frowned slightly.

"What speaketh thou? 'Tis no tongue of mine."

"Well, clearly it is. I mean you understand the gist of it, right?"

The witch rose a delicately painted eyebrow. Leo visibly fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"Oh, fine. Where be-eth the...er, the room to wash oneself, pray tell? If it pleases Your Grace? I mean, milady? I mean-"

The witch giggled, covering her mouth with three fingers as she laughed.

"Thou art most amusing." she said, looking at him from under her eyelashes. " 'Tis certain I am no lady. Whither dost thine companions hail from?"

"What?" Leo asked, confused. "Oh, them? All over-est the place - I mean, world." He waved a hand around impatiently. "Please, milady, answereth the damn question."

The witch looked shocked.

"Thou speaketh against the will of the Lord! Goest in hell, miscreant, I wilt not treat with thee. Begone!"

"Aw, come one! Don't be like that, I just really want to go to the bathroom!"

The witch looked positively scandalized.

"Bath room? How dareth thee speak of such matters?" she screeched. "I am no lady, 'tis true, but ye dost not gain from ye who dost not speak fair. Harken this, young brigand: I knoweth not witherto thy hails form, but 'tis a most ungodly land, verily 'tis so!"

Even Annabeth had to listen hard to understand what the witch was going on about, and Leo's mouth was slightly open in confusion.

"She says she won't help." Annabeth translated.

Leo huffed and stuck his hands in his pocket.

"Huh. Well, goest and flippeth thyself, then." he muttered, slouching back to stand next to Piper, who could barely contain her laughter.

The witch crossed her arms and stuck her nose up in to the air, looking pointedly away from all of them. Annabeth rubbed her temple. They needed to find bathroom, and fast. She made eye-contact with Nico and gave a him a pleading look. The girl had liked the look of him, maybe she still did.

The son of Hades looked pained, but he approached the painting nevertheless. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Excuse me," he said quietly. "Could you direct us to the nearest wash-room, please?"

The witch looked down on him and her crossed arms loosened slightly.

"Thou needest the washing room?" she asked, slightly suspiciously. "Dost thou need to wash thine clothes?"

"No." Nico said. He raised his hands slightly. "My hands. They're dirty."

The witch relaxed.

"Verily, thine hands needeth water." she said, smiling cheekily. "Goest down this here corridor and the room thou needest be through the second door on the right."

"Thanks a lot." Nico said, adding a strained smile for her efforts. "See you."

"_Adieu, mon ami_." the witch called as they walked away, Nico fastest of all. "Mayhap we wilt meet once more!"

"I sincerely hope not." Nico mumbled once they were out of earshot.

To their credit, none of his friends commented on the painted witch's soft spot for him, though once or twice Piper exchanged a look with Annabeth and grinned. They found the bathroom easily enough, but apparently the witch in the portrait needed to update her knowledge of the castle.

"It's out of order." said Percy. "You'd think it would be fixed after a two-month-long summer holiday."

"_And _it's for girls." Leo said, sounding revolted. Piper poked him in the ribs.

"If it's out of order then no-one will mind if boys go in." she said. "In fact no-one will mind if anyone goes in, 'cause they won't know about it."

Leo mumbled something in protest, but Piper and Annabeth dragged him inside the disused bathroom. It was a grim place, all grey and cold and dusty, which Leo wasted no time in pointing out, because how were they meant to create a rainbow in a place like this? Long summer afternoons meant that it was still brightly sunny outside, but only a pale shaft of light filtered through the dusty, cobwebbed windows. There was a very faint gurgling sound around that suggested a broken tap, and the water marks on the floor said that a few floods had happened here before.

"Nice." Percy said, looking around. "I can see why students like this place."

"I wonder why no-one bothered to fix it." Piper murmured, examining the wash sinks. "It can't be that difficult in a school of magic."

"Doesn't matter. We need to find a way to make a rainbow." Annabeth said, tying her hair up in a ponytail. She strode to one of the sinks and turned the tap, which was so rusty it screeched as soon as she twisted it. No water came out. She tried another, still no water. Annoyed, she tried another tap. No water.

"None of these are working." she announced, frustrated. "But I can hear water; where's it coming from?"

"I think it might just be the pipes." Piper said, looking at the walls. "Maybe we can use some of this broken glass? Wait, no, that's not glass," she rummaged around on the floor and carefully picked up a large shard. "It's a piece of mirror."

Annabeth relaxed.

"Great. Mirrors can create tiny rainbows. If we can find the right angle and make it bigger, we can ask Iris to-"

"Who are _you_?" a voice suddenly asked rudely.

* * *

**UPDATE**:** The chapter title, _Acta Est Fabula,_ means 'The play has been performed'.**


	4. Ferrum Potesta Est

**Chapter 4**

**Author's Note:**

**Hi guys. Long time no see, I know. Sorry about the long delay. This is A-Level year for me and I study four subjects, so yeah, busy times.**

**Anyway, extra-long chapter this time to make up for it. Hope you like it!**

**A very, very large thank you to all those readers, followers, and favourit-ers (is there even a word for that? Oh well, when in doubt make words up, eh?), but an especially loud, enormous thank you to everyone who reviewed!**

**So, **

**CinderAshTree****: I think you'll be surprised... **

**madisonbookaddict14****: I'm sorry, because I know that's probably a reference to the book, but I don't recall that. I'll look it up though, thanks for the suggestion. **

**WhiteWinterStar****: Yes, fairly awkward. Glad you're liking this. Gods know how I'm having fun writing this. It's become the sole thing I actually do in French lessons.**

**KAT of Fanfiction****: Thanks, Kat. Glad you found it funny. I wasn't sure about that scene, but apparently I did well to include it. Good! **

**Desantog****: hang in there, my friend! **

**Haylie****: Your review is what's refreshing! Thanks a lot for your encouragement.**

**Finwitch1****: Oh, yeah... I hadn't thought of that for Percy. **

**Guest****: what can I say? You're a great person for actually saying that :)**

**Thank you all.**

**So, once more, here goes.**

* * *

"_Who are _you_?" a voice asked rudely._

Everyone jumped and spun around to see who had spoken. A girl was looking at them, pale and shimmering enough to look almost transparent in the pale light. Her accusing eyes narrowed at the demigods through a pair of thick-lensed glasses, and her thin mouth was set in a hard line of disapproval. She floated in the air about a foot off the ground, and it was that bit which truly convinced the teenagers they were seeing a ghost.

Struck dumb with surprise at her presence, the demigods didn't answer. Her mouth thinned till they could barely make out her lips.

"Well?" She snapped. "Are you going to tell me or are you going to stay there and gawk at me all day? Mind you, I'm used to it. Everyone always pointed and laughed at me, to make fun of me." She thrust out her translucent chin. "Well go on then, laugh at me. Then I'll just go somewhere you can't find me or-"

"You're a ghost." Leo blurted.

The girl's face crumpled.

"Yes! See? I knew it! Students are always making fun of-of-of m-m-me!" She started sobbing.

"Fun of you? How are we making fun of-" Percy started to ask, completely confused.

"I'm d-d-dead! I'm dead and you're al-alive and everyone just has to _point_. _That_. _Out_!" She howled and buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking as the sobs racked her torso.

The demigods exchanged utterly bemused looks. Only when the ghost girl's sobs failed to stop after a minute did Hazel decide to do something. She took a few steps closer to the girl, and after pausing and looking thoughtful, pulled Nico along with her. The boy scowled and opened his mouth, visibly to protest, but his sister shot him a withering look. He closed his mouth, but his scowl deepened.

Hazel approached the ghost girl.

"Hello." She said, tentatively. "I'm Hazel. What's your name?"

The girl suspiciously peeked at her through ghostly fingers, then loudly blew her nose on the sleeve of what, Annabeth suddenly realized, had once been a school uniform. So this girl used to be a student here, but... she looked so _young_. What had happened to her, how had she-?

"Myrtle." She grudged out. "_Moaning_ Myrtle, people call me, because I cry when they say mean things to me."

"Who says mean things to you, Myrtle?" Hazel asked gently.

Myrtle's cheeks suddenly flushed silver until her face was almost opaque.

"Oh, don't act like you don't _know_!" She shouted, her voice going shrill. "Students are always coming in here to laugh at me while I'm minding my own business being _dead_ and wanting to be alone. Look at Myrtle, they say, she's ugly, she's fat, she's got stupid glasses!"

Hazel held out her hands and made a placating gesture.

"Okay, okay, we get it. Lots of people are mean to you." She said. "But we're totally new students, Myrtle, we've never said mean things to you, and nor would we. We think you're nice, don't we guys?"

There were nods around the dilapidated bathroom, some immediate, some grudging and some forced. Piper had to nudge Leo's ankle because he hadn't moved.

"Yeah... delightful."

Moaning Myrtle floated back down a little, her magnified eyes still suspicious behind their lenses, but she had stopped crying and that was definitely something, in everyone's opinion.

"New students?" She said, looking doubtful. "It's true I haven't see you before - and I've seen nearly everyone in the bathrooms around the castle. You sound different too, I suppose. Where do you come from?"

"We're Americans." Jason answered. Myrtle took one look at him and her cheeks were more silvery than ever. Piper smirked.

"We've been exploring the castle." Hazel continued. "I'm sorry we disturbed you. We were just looking for...well, never mind, but it's just to say we didn't mean to upset you. Really. I know what it's like - I mean..." she looked uncomfortable, "I know what it is to have mean things said to you. It hurts and you can't do anything about it 'cause it would just get worse. And then there's no-one to go to, not really, because you're always afraid that they'll laugh as well, or turn you down."

Another tear glistened and trickled down the ghost girl's cheek, and she nodded miserably.

"Yes." She mumbled. "Well... all right."

Hazel visibly decided to go a bit further.

"You... you mentioned you were dead, Myrtle. Does that mean you're a ghost then? We don't see any in America, you see, and we're not quite sure about any of this. If you don't mind telling us, how exactly did you...?"

"Die?" Myrtle said, her tone lofty now. "Oh, it was tragic. Terrible, really. I was in here and this giant monster snuck up behind me. Caused a whole lot of trouble for Headmaster Dippet, that did, but I don't care about that. The only thing that mattered to me was that Olive Hornby was made prefect the year after that. She was the one responsible for my death, you know. Yes, she teased me and mocked me until I decided to go and cry in this particular bathroom for a while..."

She prattled on, while Percy sidled up to Annabeth.

"I thought Dumbledore was headmaster here?" He whispered in her ear, low enough so that Myrtle didn't hear and suspect he was making remarks about her.

"I think the man she mentioned was probably headmaster in her own time." She breathed back. "I don't think ghosts age at all after their death, and this bathroom looks really ancient."

"... and I said, I said Well it's your own fault, for teasing me and causing my death, now you'll just have to get used to me. Oh, she tried all sorts of things to get rid of me, even exorcism, but I was going to haunt her for the rest of her days. I told her straight away that I wasn't going back to that damp, dark place you go to just before you become a ghost. It's horrible, all dark and foggy and full of other dead- oh!"

She clapped a hand over her mouth and her eyes widened, her lenses making the effect particularly impressive. Hazel's eyes were like that of a hawk as she scrutinised the ghost.

"What was that, Myrtle? A dark place full of dead people? What do you mean?"

Myrtle shook her head, terrified.

"I'm not supposed to talk about that." She said, looking as though she was about to be upset again. "I can't talk about it, don't make me. It's your fault. I'm not used to talking to people any more, you made me talk too much."

"But I think we can help you." Hazel pressed on. "You're here all the time, and it doesn't sound like it's the best existence. Don't you want friends? Or something to do? Or-"

Myrtle clenched her fists and rocketed up in the air again. Annabeth rolled her eyes, and Leo face-palmed.

"If I don't want to talk to you, I don't have to!" She screeched. "Here I was, minding my own business, and then you barge in demanding answers for everything. Who do you think you are? I don't have to answer to you, you-"

"No." Nico said. "But you do have to answer to me."

Everyone's gaze swivelled around to look at him. He was standing, stiff as a rod, staring at Myrtle and steadily pointing his Stygian iron sword at her. If Myrtle's phantom anatomy had previously been capable of expanding her ghostly veins and rushing silver blood to her cheeks, it was now demonstrating the total drainage of said blood, until Myrtle was so pale she was nearly transparent.

"You." She breathed. "Something's... different about you."

"Correct." Nico said. "Let's see if you can get the next thing right too. What am I holding?"

Myrtle's eyes shifted from the boy's face to the sword he was holding out towards her. She looked, if possible, even more alarmed.

"That's answer enough for me." Nico said, shifting his grip slightly, so that instead of pointing his sword directly at her, he was pointing it in her general direction. "Next question: can it affect you?"

Slowly, Myrtle nodded.

Nico smiled. It was a strange smile on one so young, a smile that Annabeth would have no trouble associating with a heartless and cold-blooded assassin.

"That's right, it can. But just to be absolutely certain, let's try it, shall we? Stay very still."

He moved closer to the absolutely immobile Myrtle and slowly placed the flat of the blade right next to her arm, ready to touch it. Hazel stared wide-eyed at her brother.

"Nico, what are you doing?"

"Yeah," Perch joined in, slightly angrily. "Stop it, you're scaring her."

"Trust me. I just want to prove my point. I won't harm her." He raised an eyebrow at Myrtle. "Unless she moves." He added coldly.

"Hazel, try and touch her arm."

Hazel hesitated, her golden eyes flitting between Nico and Myrtle, the latter of whom was so still she had stopped shimmering in the pale sunlight. Slowly, tentatively, Hazel touched Myrtle's arm.

Except she didn't touch it. Her small dark hand passed right through Myrtle's arm, and Hazel inhaled sharply. Her hand looked grey inside the ghost's limb, almost as though she were a ghost herself. She removed it quickly.

"It's freezing." Hazel whispered.

"Yes, it is." Nico said, still holding Myrtle's gaze. The girl, instead of being offended at this very deliberate pointing-out that she was dead, looked positively calm. She was still utterly immobile, but as she continued to stare at Nico, her features showed fascination rather than fear.

"Now let's see if my sword can touch you." Nico whispered. He inched his blade closer to her, and still Myrtle did not budge. She stared into Nico's eyes, then gasped slightly as the blade came into contact with her arm and stopped.

Nico smiled again. This time it was smaller, but warmer.

"I can touch you with it, then." He concluded. "Now do you know who I am? Who all of us are?"

"I can guess." Myrtle breathed. "You're him. The young Master. I'd heard whispers about you, but I thought they were just other ghosts trying to make fun of me." She stared some more at him. "You touched my arm. No-one's touched me since I was alive."

"If you know who I am," Nico said, "then you just about know who they are, too. They're like me. Different. Special. We need your help, and you're the only one here who can give it to us."

The ghost girl nodded, transfixed by this strange boy and his utter authority over her.

"Nico, _what are you doing?_" Hazel asked again, this time more gravely. "What happened to never revealing who we-"

"One," Nico said, "Myrtle is a ghost, and therefore under my control, as are all ghosts regardless of their magical status. She couldn't betray me if she tried. Two, Chiron said to make allies, which is exactly what I'm doing - you want people to talk to you, don't you Myrtle? Don't lie." He _tsked_ impatiently. "You can't lie to me, I can feel what you want. You can be our ally, you'd be important to us. Keep our secret. Act as our liaison with the magical world."

Myrtle's mouth opened and shut several times. She seemed gobsmacked by this sudden proposal which nobody but Nico seemed to be in the know of.

"You mean..." she started eventually. "You want to be my friends?"

It was said with such suspicion, yet such undeniable hope, that Annabeth couldn't help but feel pity for her. Poor girl, she'd been killed as a child, teased in her lifetime - and death-time, by the sound of it - and lonely for who knew how many years.

Nico winced a the word 'friends', but Hazel stepped in, clearly conscious of the fact that her brother was creeping everybody out.

"In short," she said, "yes. Will you be our ally, Myrtle? We need your help for something."

Had Myrtle been alive, her cheeks would have been positively rosy by now. The rate at which her ghostly sanguine system reacted to her emotions was so fast it was unnerving, perhaps even more than the fact she was, in actual fact, a ghost. A creature who by all the laws of mythology, physics and imagination wasn't _supposed_ to still have blood.

"Oooh, all right." She agreed happily. "Yes. Master Nico says he can command me, but he doesn't need to. If you're really not like all the other students, then I want to help you - I'm tired of always being surrounded by them."

"Surrounded by students in an abandoned bathroom? Sounds unlikely." Thalia muttered. Myrtle ignored her, which in Annabeth's eyes was already a great improvement on her part.

"Don't call me Master Nico." the boy in question muttered, lowering his sword.

"But - but what should I call you, then?"

"Nico, like everyone else does." He answered flatly, re-sheathing the blade.

Myrtle actually giggled.

"Ooh, I get to call the master of ghosts by his first name? That _is_ nice." She smiled widely and floated closer to him. Nico was starting to look like he was regretting sheathing his sword. Percy saved him the trouble of pulling it out again by steering him out of the way and pushing him out of the door.

"Excuse me," he addressed Myrtle, "I need to have a word with my cousin."

She nodded coyly and simpered at them as they backed out in to the corridor, where they were soon joined by Piper, Annabeth, Thalia and Jason. The others stayed inside, presumably to keep their new ally busy while their friends dealt with trouble.

Percy roughly let go of Nico and turned on him. He looked so angry Annabeth was surprised he had kept it in so long.

"What," he growled, "were you _thinking_? You think this is all a game?"

Nico straightened, and his black eyes started shooting daggers at Percy. The aura of darkness around him, so mild in the past few weeks, suddenly intensified and Annabeth felt an unpleasantly familiar, cloying cloak of gloom close in around her. She shuddered, reminded of Tartarus.

"I was making allies. Doing as I was _told_." He spat. "I knew what I was doing, which is a good deal more than what you could say for most of what the great Percy Jackson ever does."

Percy's jaw clenched, his eyes turning as stormy as Nico's. He opened his mouth to retort, but Annabeth cut across him.

"Nico, putting aside the fact that you decided to act entirely of your own accord, what we're getting at is that what you just did was _scary_. You pulled out your sword and pointed it at that girl like she was little more than a monster! Where was the harm in letting her know who we were, if we had to, in a way that didn't involve weapons?"

"Because she's not harmless, even though she's a ghost. I was letting her know who she was dealing with right away, in a manner that would discourage her from ever being a liability for us." He shot back hotly.

Annabeth was getting angry too.

"So that's what it's about for you?" She asked, indignant. "You think it's about power over others? She could have come to our side _without_ those barely-disguised threats! Haven't we already learned time and time again that force wasn't always the solution to everything?"

Nico scowled, but didn't answer.

"What I want to know," Jason said gravely, "is how she sees us now. Can she see our weapons now that she knows we're similar to you? Can she see our tattoos? Can she teach others to see them as well?"

"She can't tell anyone about this at all, because I forbid her to." Nico muttered. "It would be physically impossible for her to tell anyone about this, even other ghosts. That means she can't lift the power of the Mist for others either. She can see our weapons now because she expects to, but others won't, so they can't."

Jason nodded in acceptance, and Piper tentatively placed a hand on Nico's shoulder. She took it as a good sign that he didn't shrug it off, even though she could feel him tense and angry still.

"I don't agree with the way it was done," she said quietly, "but I think you did the right thing to offer us as her friends. I could feel what she wanted most too, and that was company. She was lonely, and you promised her companionship, Nico. That's one good thing at least."

"I just hope we won't have to play babysitters from now on." Thalia said, scowling. "Look, coz, from now on none of us can take important decisions like that without consulting the others. To do so would be as stupid as it would be unfair. This mission is hugely important, and it can only succeed if we trust each other and work as a team."

Nico stared into the eyes of Artemis' Chief Huntress, so blue and brimming with stormy power, and nodded moodily. Annabeth thanked Ananke that he finally saw sense, and sighed in relief.

"Right." She said. "Now that's sorted, let's go see if our new friend Myrtle can help us make a rainbow."

Meanwhile, Leo was finding it hard to keep up conversation with Myrtle. She seemed disappointed that some of them, namely Nico, had left the room, so it was a slightly sulky ghost that he tried to be friendly to.

"So," he said. "Do you, er... meet many other ghosts here?"

Myrtle's eyes narrowed at him, immediately suspicious despite Hazel's recent efforts to convince her of their good intentions.

"I suppose so." She said glumly. "There are ghosts all over the castle, like the Bloody Baron, and the Jolly Friar. There are others too, but I never really meet any of them because I'm usually crying in my toilet."

Leo nodded as though that were a perfectly good reason to stay unsociable.

"Ah. Yes. It must be very... special. If I spent so much time in a place I'd get very attached to it, given that I would never really leave it, and all. I mean, who needs friends when you can have U-bends and flushes, eh?" He started rambling, aware that he was sounding increasingly sarcastic, even though he wasn't meaning to. But he was Leo after all, and it was only ever a matter of time before sarcasm made its appearance when he opened his mouth.

Hazel was looking around the bathroom, and Leo knew she was desperate to find something that could enable them to contact Chiron.

"Myrtle, do you know where we could find something ghat could make a rainbow?"

"A rainbow?" The ghost asked, puzzled. "Why ever would you need a rainbow?"

"Oh, in America it's the latest fashion for people like us to communicate." Leo said lightly. "Huge business out of it. Everyone has their portable rainbow-makers at home, but we lost the one we shared on the way here."

Myrtle nodded, looking thoughtful.

"Well, you look like fifth-years at least, have you covered the Light-Splitting Charm?" She asked. "I remember learning it in my third year, I think."

Leo exchanged a slightly panicky glance with Frank and Hazel.

"Er... no. We haven't." He answered. He let her figure out for herself a reason for their lapse in knowledge. "Any other suggestions?"

"I...I think I remember something about mirrors being able to project tiny rainbows..." Myrtle said vaguely, starting to drift over to where the shattered remains of the mirror lay.

She passed through a shaft of sunlight as she did, and a flash of colour caught Leo's eye. His gaze snapped to the floor under Myrtle, and just before she left the small area where the sun was shining through the pale window, he spotted a faded, mere suggestion of a rainbow on the floor as her shimmering form floated across.

"Woah!" He nearly shouted, holding a hand up and startling everyone in the room.

"What is it?" Hazel asked, alarmed.

"Myrtle, you... you genius! Stay right there, and don't move!" Leo cried, excited as a cat on a hot tin roof. He rushed to the window behind her, grabbed a cloth and a spray bottle from his tool belt without even having to think about it, and started to energetically scrub the glass panes. Within twenty seconds it was as clean as it was going to get. He stepped back and admired his handiwork.

"Perfect! Now look, guys! Myrtle is our own mediator with Iris."

He pointed at the floor beneath Moaning Myrtle, slightly further away from the window than she was, where her immaterial ghost form acted as a glass prism and was splitting the light enough to form a brightly coloured rainbow, which now lay projected against the drab stone floor.

Hazel laughed in delight, while Frank sighed in relief and finally re-sheathed the dagger he had drawn at Leo's shout.

Myrtle looked fascinated.

"I never knew I could do that before." She said.

"Love, the state those windows were in, you wouldn't have found out in another century, believe me."

Leo hopped down from the sink he'd climbed onto to reach the window and reached deep into his tool belt, thinking hard about a golden drachma, but his hand came out empty. He grimaced, not really surprised. If money came freely from his belt, he wouldn't be Leo Valdez any more, he'd be freakin' Bruce Wayne.

"I think Annabeth has the coins." He informed the others. "D'you think they've finished biting Nico's head off yet?"

At that moment, Annabeth herself opened the door and came back in with the others in tow. Leo took it as a good sign for all their friendships that Nico didn't look any surlier than usual. Their returned friends were all delighted at their discovery, and Myrtle flushed silver again as everyone expressed their gratitude for her help. It had now been a full five minutes since she'd moaned, and getting longer every second. Company and kindness seemed to do wonders for her attitude.

Annabeth fished out a drachma, threw it into the rainbow, politely asked for Iris' assistance, and presently was redirected to Chiron the centaur.

He appeared, as suddenly as if they'd turned a TV screen on, moodily drinking from a large chalice, ignoring the leopard-rug's wheedling for carnivorous treats. As soon as he saw them all in a group peering trough the multicoloured spectrum, he dropped his chalice and cantered the few yards between them.

"Percy! Annabeth! You're safe, that's excellent. How are the others?"

Leo leaned forward and pulled Hazel and Jason along with him.

"Sir! All present Mr Chiron, sir!"

Chiron actually laughed, which was a surprise. Annabeth didn't think she'd ever heard him laugh at Leo's corny humour before. No doubt he was just pleased to see them unharmed and - so far - successful.

"Tell me then, did you manage to get into Hogwarts?" he asked, as eager as though someone had offered him a carrot.

Percy nodded and grinned. Annabeth nodded as well, but was a bit more reserved in her enthusiasm. She had her doubts, and her friends knew it, but she didn't know how to tell Chiron about them without sounding foolish or paranoid.

"It was quite easy, actually." Percy said, keen to tell his old friend and mentor all about their great heroics. "Well, Leo fell in to a lake and Thalia nearly blew herself to bits, but all we had to do in the end was pretend to like punishment."

Chiron stared at him and Percy's friends made awkward eye-contact. The son of Poseidon clapped a hand to his mouth, and his eyes widened to comic proportions.

"That... That came out wrong." he stuttered. "What I meant was... There's this guy who really likes whips and dungeons-"

Thalia flapped her hands around. "Stop, stop, stop! You're making it worse!"

Percy bit his lip, trying not to laugh to shake off the embarrassment, and Annabeth knew it was no use waiting for him to carry on. It indeed could only get worse.

She hesitated very slightly before speaking up. She still wasn't very comfortable talking openly around Myrtle, but Nico had assured her it was safe. She'd learnt to trust that boy with her life a month ago, so hey, why not the fate of magic as well?

"We got led to the headmaster, who seemed beyond surprised to see us, but he offered us a place here after we told him how our camp got destroyed and that we needed a place to stay - and a school to go to."

"The school bit was unnecessary." Percy muttered.

Piper nodded fervently in agreement.

Chiron looked quite surprised - Annabeth had never seen his eyebrows so high up, not even when he witnessed Leo burn half a strawberry field because he'd sneezed unexpectedly.

"You mean to say... Albus Dumbledore let you in on the basis of nothing else but your word?"

Annabeth winced. Well, her weak attempts at hiding stuff from their conveniently transmissive new friend were now permanently blown.

"Sort of." she said. "Listen, Chiron..."

She told him about her fears. About McGonagall's strange reaction when she saw them - more akin to realization than surprise - Dumbledore's telepathic powers, and his strange readiness to take their word on matters that concerned him and the entire wizarding world greatly...

Chiron nodded sagely as she spoke, and when she had finished Percy spoke up.

"But... it's unreasonable, isn't it? There's no reason for the old man to completely disbelieve us, and there's no way he can prove us wrong if you help us."

"Only a daughter of Athena complains of things being too easy." Thalia said, nudging Annabeth with a slightly teasing smile.

Her friend shook her head, and didn't smile back.

"I'm serious." she said, and she looked it. "Chiron, something about this isn't right. It doesn't match up."

He sighed.

"You're right to worry. Albus Dumbledore is the single most brilliant mind in the wizarding world. Getting him to fully believe anyone is one thing, but tricking your way past him is another entirely. If error wasn't human, I'd say it were impossible."

"But... you knew it was going to be this hard?" Hazel blurted, astounded. "You knew about Dumbledore before we did?"

"Of course." Chiron answered, sounding surprised at her astonishment. "I told you we occasionally keep tabs on the wizarding world. But I also knew that if anyone among us could get past him, you lot could."

"Don't change the subject." Piper said, sounding cross and folding her arms. "And flattery won't work either. I don't understand why you didn't brief us fully. This is incredibly important!"

"If I had told you he was immensely clever and the greatest wizard in this century, would you still have gone as readily as you did?" Chiron shot back, in a reasonable, _I'm-aeons-old-and-you're-cubs _tone. "And even if you had, you would've tried too hard, and forced him to believe you - and while I have every respect for Miss McLean's powers, we all know the old ways of persuasion are the best."

They still didn't answer, so he continued.

"You mentioned he could read minds? If one of you had me his gaze while concentrating on deceiving him, he would immediately have been alerted of the trickery and the whole mission would've blown."

Piper looked like she wanted to say something else, but in the end she grudgingly nodded and went to stand next to Jason.

Annabeth took the opportunity to tackle their most immediate issue: their security.

"Chiron," she started, in a hurry because Myrtle was starting to shift impatiently, causing the image to ripple slightly, "we need you to plant believable evidence of our status as wizards in America. Birth certificates, school reports - we named the school Mythomagic, by the way - ID, everything. Maybe even some sort of report on what happened to the school." she glanced at the others and grinned sheepishly. "We told them it was destroyed by monsters. Never hurts to tell a bit of the truth."

She told him in more detail the tale she'd related to Dumbledore earlier, and he slowly nodded in understanding.

"That's fine," he said, ruffling his hair with a hand, something none of them had seen him do before. "Yes. Good. ID, reports, evidence... I'll ask Hermes to do something about it. He won't be happy to act as the errand boy, but he owes me one anyway. And, my word - Mythomagic, really? Rings a bell." he grinned.

The others laughed, and Nico rolled his eyes, but couldn't entirely hide a faint blush when Annabeth winked at him.

"First name that came to mind." she said, smiling.

The image suddenly rippled again, because Myrtle was leaning forward, trying to see.

"Chiron, we have to go." Annabeth said worriedly. "Professor McGonagall said she'd send for us soon, so we'd better be around when she does."

The centaur nodded.

"Understood. Go then, and good luck. You've done well." He gave them the smile Annabeth knew he reserved for those he held in the highest respect, and she felt her heart swell, both with pride at his words and sadness that she wouldn't see him for a long time. The demigods waved at him, and Percy passed a hand through the shimmering haze, dispelling the image of their friend until only the shifting multi-coloured lights remained.

Moaning Myrtle was looking at them wide-eyed and positively glowing with excitement. If she got any brighter she could replace any neon light-bulb, Annabeth thought.

"That's the most interesting thing I've seen since the day I died." she said.

"Life is never boring around us." Percy said wryly. "We'd better go, Myrtle, but thanks a lot for your help. We won't forget it."

"Or you." Hazel put in. "We'll come and visit you, sometime. I promise."

Percy exchange a slightly guilty look with Annabeth, and she knew that he was thinking of Bob, or Iapetus as he was known once more.

"Don't worry." she whispered, taking his hand. "I have a feeling Hazel will keep her promise, like Nico did. Seems to run in the family. Their dad's know for keeping his promises."

"It'd be worth it to be a child of Hades just for that." he said, his tone full of bitter guilt still. "To keep a promise."

She put a hand on his cheek.

"Hey," she said. "I know you feel bad about it, and so do I. We won't make excuses, because we know better, but remember this: Bob forgave us. He remembered everything and he forgave us for forgetting about him. The guilt we're feeling is the price of his goodness, and I don't know about you but I think we're very well off, because no gold on earth could replace Bob's friendship."

His lips twisted into a half-smile, and he acknowledged her words with a quick peck on the lips before leading her back to the others, who were saying goodbye to Myrtle.

The ghost girl's eyes were brimming with tears, but to her credit she kept them in and even smiled a little as they thanked her profusely.

"I know you'll be busy." she said. "But I've never met people like you before. I'll watch out for you."

Hazel smiled brightly and reached out a hand, as though to touch Myrtle's shoulder. Of course, her hand passed right through her, but not enough to be rude, and Myrtle even reached up and did the same. She smiled again, this time more shyly, and looked over at Nico.

"I'll be here whenever you need me Mas-er, Nico." she told him. "I'll help you with anything you need to know."

Nico nodded cordially.

"Thank you, Myrtle. I knew I could count on you."

Myrtle blushed again, and Hazel rolled her eyes at her brother's formality. "Oh, loosen up." she grumbled at him. "This is school, not a funeral. Oh, sorry Myrtle. I mean... Just lighten up Nico, okay?"

Nico shrugged and walked out of the bathroom. "Why? I thought the fate of the world depended on this mission."

"Doesn't mean we can't have fun while we're completing it, dude." Leo said, catching up with him. "I for one want to know how those staircases work."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Minerva McGonagall's suspicions were confirmed as soon as she opened the door to Dumbledore's office. She could immediately tell he was preoccupied, because he failed to turn and face her as she entered. His back was turned to her, for he was standing at the window, looking out at the beautiful sunset that stretched out across the darkening Scottish landscape. It was the kind of sunset that could belong both in Haiti and in the middle of a wintry desert, so wild and colourful did it seem in contrast with the dark hills, nearly black against the bright sky. Gold mingled with pink, yellow and burnt orange, stretching so high up that it steadily reached blue again, deepening in colour as west turned to east.

It was breathtakingly beautiful, but Minerva had seen others, and she wanted answers.

"Albus." she called out. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Who can say, Minerva?" her colleague and friend answered, still staring out of the window. "What secrets lie behind a sunset? To the Celts it was the beginning of a new day. To the Aztecs, one of such beauty as this one was a sign that the gods were feasting. The Ancient Greeks were convinced it was the Sun god who had completed his tour on his shining chariot. To us wizards and muggles, it is simply our nearest star fading behind the horizon and the end of yet another day."

Minerva nearly made an impatient sound, but held herself back just in time. She had great respect for Dumbledore, Circe knew she did, but the man could be so infuriatingly elusive sometimes. She settled for stalking over to face him fully, and primly folding her hands in front her before fixing him with her eyes, which she had once been told could unnerve those subject to their stare... something about not blinking.

"You know what I mean. Those students this afternoon, Sybill's prophecy, Voldemort's return... it's all coming together, isn't it?"

He fixed her with a shrewd stare, one she knew he usually hid behind a mask of politeness and mild curiosity. As his clear blue eyes met her grey ones, she felt the full force of his intellect hit her, almost physically, and he held her gaze for a little longer than necessary. Minerva considered it a credit to their friendship and the trust between them (perhaps even to her intelligence, a daringly hopeful little voice whispered to her) that he did not attempt to wave away her words, or deny them completely.

Instead, his gaze held hers, and finally he looked away and back to the sunset.

"Yes, I believe so." he said simply.

Minerva inhaled sharply. So she had been right. _I knew it_, whispered another little voice, but a part of her quailed in spite of hearing confirmation for her thoughts. Perhaps there had always been a part of her that had hoped she'd been wrong, ever since she'd seen the nine bewildered teenagers that afternoon.

"You think those children are the solution to all our problems?" she asked. "A week ago we didn't even know magic was in danger, and now not only is its fate in question, but we once again have to rely on under-age students. Where is the world going, Albus? Most of the staff don't even fully believe Sybill uttered a real prophecy, and we're relying on a few lines of poetry? First Potter at one year old, then Potter again at fifteen, and now a bunch of American adolescents from a place we've never heard of!"

Dumbledore sighed and leaned on the window ledge, his hand supporting his chin.

"I do not deny that every aspect of this business is strange, Minerva." he conceded . "But I dare say there are higher powers than us involved in this."

It took a moment for Minerva to register what he'd said.

"You mean... Other countries? You think Voldemort had become a threat big enough for other wizarding nations to join us in the fight?"

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. If anything, he looked amused.

"Come now, Minerva. Don't make me spell it out for you. The entire British wizarding world already regards me as an attention-craving crackpot, and if the Ministry supports that view than why should the American Federal Wizarding State believe anything else? And if America stays out of the matter, why should any other nations get involved? It's natural for the governments of nations to concern themselves only with matters that directly affect their nations."

"Then... what higher powers are you talking about?" she pressed, lost.

"Have you ever wondered what made prophecies prophecies, Minerva?" Dumbledore asked her, with the usual air of someone changing the subject, but which she was quite sure wasn't entirely genuine. He straightened and calmly strode back to his huge desk. "Or rather - what makes them possible? What causes them?"

Minerva stood stock still, agape and totally confused.

"I suppose... Well, Mr. Flamel did extensive research in the area, and he concluded that prophecies were the results of warps in time, and humans who were especially sensitive to the effects of temporal disturbances caught glimpses of the future. These glitches in time barely exist enough for anyone to know anything about them, but the theory is that what people like Trelawney see, or hear, is in a form so completely alien that whatever they relate in words is vague and imprecise, therefore any prophecy made is only a rough translation of what the pythia saw."

Dumbledore nodded once and sat down in his chair.

"Hmm... Perhaps... Time warps, really?... I wonder..."

Minerva was getting more and more impatient.

"But what does that have to do with anything, Albus? Sybill's outburst the other day was real, there's no doubt about it. Why suddenly examine the causes of prophecy when hundreds have been made before? Granted, examining the precise workings of _her _trade would probably be beneficial to all of us, but I don't think we need go much further than fraudery for that, Albus."

Dumbledore lightly tapped the tips of his fingers together, deep in thought. After a few moments, he spoke again.

"You recall what I once told you about young Harry Potter all those years ago, Minerva?"

"Which bit?" she asked tartly. "The bit about Voldemort marking him as his equal, or the part about his scar acting as a pletephone between him and Voldemort?"

"I believe the term is 'telephone', though I'm not sure the analogy is entirely accurate." he chuckled slightly, and became serious once more. "I was referring to the part about Harry being the one prophecized to defeat Voldemort, and that, quite simply, in doing so he would either succeed or die trying."

"You... you never told me this." Minerva told him shakily. "You said... You said Harry was the one to kill Voldemort because he had the _right _to, not because he was the one fated to!"

"Did I? I don't recall." Dumbledore said vaguely, staring into space. "In any case, both versions are correct: Harry will face Voldemort. The only difference lies in the outcome."

"What do you mean?" Minerva asked, her voice trembling slightly with growing fear. She hated it when Dumbledore shed the mask of the benign headmaster and emerged as the cool genius, so detached from the emotional side of the facts that nothing bothered him in his reasoning.

Dumbledore spread his hands a little, as though in a gesture of regret.

"Harry will face Voldemort in battle. That much was clear in the prophecy. But what it was not so clear on was the outcome of the battle. If Voldemort survives, does Harry die or does the possibility for his survival still stand? Or conversely, if Voldemort is defeated, is Harry still entitled to live? The prophecy warns of a final face-off, but not of the outcome nor the consequences."

Minerva was silent for a while as she digested this horrible new perspective.

"But what has this got to do with the new students, or this new prophecy?" she asked him. "I think they're the ones mentioned in Sybill's prophecy, and I know you do too. But what have 'higher powers' got to do with this? You think something is controlling everything that happens in the wizarding world?"

Dumbledore sighed again and leaned back in his chair. He looked tired already, and term hadn't even started.

"The question is, if the prophecy we heard the other day at breakfast does link in with all this, and I strongly suspect it does, then how do our new students fit in to the equation? There's no doubt they are the ones mentioned in the prophecy, and I commend you for your rapid perception of that. But they are so _strange_, Minerva. Almost as though they are completely new to the wizarding world itself. They didn't know what to answer when I asked them how they managed to cross the boundaries, and when only one girl answered they all looked at her like she'd gone mad!"

He looked at Minerva, and for the first time in years - since she witnessed Harry Potter's arrival in Privet Drive, in fact - she saw uncertainty and doubt in his eyes.

"Do you know what they claimed, Minerva? They shared their belief that technology had been mixed with magic to obtain them passage here. Most students of wizarding background barely know the meaning of electricity, yet these seem like experts! Assuming they were not lying - and why would they be, after all - I don't think it would be possible to overestimate the danger to us all if Voldemort discovered a way of mixing muggle technology with wizard magic. The world would go down in flames, and us along with it!"

Minerva watched in slight awe. It wasn't often one got to see the greatest wizard of the century this agitated. "Do you think they could be lying? I mean, it's possible, but why do so if they're just innocent stranded students? It's not like they _know _anything about the prophecy. Who are they, Albus?"

"I don't know. Yet. But that does not matter at this precise moment. What I want to know is, will they serve to help Harry or hinder him? Will they save Magic or doom it?... So many questions, Minerva." he sighed, his tone so full of sad wisdom Minerva could almost forgive him for having scrutinized Potter's future so detachedly. "One barely knows which questions to ask before getting one's answers."

He sighed again. "When you heard Sybill's prophecy Minerva, what did you think of the way it was formed?"

Minerva thought about it.

"It was perhaps longer than the one you told me about, though I've never heard that one for myself so I can't be sure. The style was different - more rhythmical. It even rhymed in places. Nothing like Sibyl's usual misty style." she concluded with a sniff.

Dumbledore nodded slowly.

"Exactly. That was my thought as well. Nothing like her usual style at all. You may therefore be surprised when I tell you it was nothing like the prophecy she made to me, either."

"Truly?" Minerva asked, surprised. "Then why the sudden change? It didn't look like she had any control over it. She didn't even know she'd spoken at all until you told her about it afterwards!"

Dumbledore stood up and went over to the cabinet where he kept his Pensieve.

"Perhaps a slight return to the past will help enlighten us." he murmured, as though to himself.

He pulled out the grey basin (inscribed with runes Minerva had never been able to translate in spite of her - if she said so herself - extensive knowledge of them) and placed it carefully on the edge of his desk. Dumbledore took it in his hands and started rotating the silvery waters slightly, so that the basin's flickering lights reflected and swirled on his face, highlighting the lines around his eyes and making him seem older than ever. A few seconds later, he pulled out his wand and swept it slowly over the waters and pulled back slightly.

A moment later, a figure rose out of the basin, like a ghost in appearance, but neither dead or alive. It was a memory. Minerva recognized the figure of Sybill Trelawney (the masses of jewellery helped, it had to be said). Trelawney rotated slowly in the basin, then opened her mouth and spoke in the raspy, harsh tone Minerva had been so surprised to hear the other day at breakfast.

"_"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives..."_

The figure of Trelawney descended back into the depths of the Pensieve, and Minerva looked at Albus.

"That was nothing like what we heard the other day." she confirmed, voicing what they were both thinking.

"Indeed." said Dumbledore softly. "Which leads me to think that whatever caused Sybill to make the prophecy a few days ago is different, if not entirely separate, to what made her speak the one we have just heard. You recall, I am sure, the prophecy she also made two years ago in Harry's third year, about Peter Pettigrew. Harry's description of it indicates that it was different also, more alike to this one here."

Minerva took one, deep breath, then mentally steeled herself and resumed her usual crisp tones.

"As strange and fascinating as all this may be Albus, we have a much more pressing issue at hand. We have no idea of who these new students are - I've never heard of their surnames in my life - and they claim to have been going to this... this Mythomagic Institute! Have you ever heard of such a place?"

Dumbledore shook his old white head and he carefully transported the Pensieve back to its cabinet.

"No. I was as surprised as you are to hear them say such a name - one would almost think their school dealt with legend as well lore."

"But do you think they're telling the truth?" Minerva insisted. "They could barely meet my eyes when I tried to question them - or rather no, they met my eyes but remained absolutely stony. I've never met anyone so uninformative when they chose to, and I knew Tom Riddle."

Dumbledore smiled grimly.

"Alas, I don't think anyone can truly say that they knew him." he said. "But as for the American students... Who knows? I must say I've never heard of this institute, and their claim that so-called 'monsters' destroyed it seems unlikely, but it's simple enough to verify their story. I'll send an owl to the American Minister of Education of Young Wizards and Witches, perhaps he can tell me more of this."

Minerva relaxed. Of course they could check the students' facts, she'd forgotten that they came from a fully developed nation with an established government. With any luck, the Americans could even perhaps be more... organized (to avoid saying less chaotic) than their British counterparts. Maybe they even had records of these students at their old school.

"Good. Well, I'm glad we've settled at least one thing. They don't seem like a bad sort, anyway. Nothing like Messrs Crabbe or Goyle, or heaven forbid, Mr Malfoy. They were rather polite, actually. Maybe they could give the Weasley boys a tip or two."

"The Weasleys are an excellent sort Minerva, as you well know." Dumbledore said briskly, but with a smile. "Perhaps a little rough around the edges, but I assure you Molly has them well in hand."

Minerva snorted.

"I doubt that, when they're several hundred miles away."

Dumbledore peered at her over his spectacles. "Never underestimated the power of Molly Weasley's Howlers, Professor McGonagall. It may be the last thing you do before you go deaf at the detonation."

Minerva chuckled, and made a move to leave.

"I have a last few matters to attend to." she informed him. "I'll see you at the feast. And for Merlin's sake, please don't seat me next to that pink monstrosity!"

Dumbledore waved her off with a slight smile, which Minerva knew she was not meant to have noticed.

0o0o0o0o0o0

Percy struggled into his new black robes. 'New' was a bit of an overstatement though; they were second-hand and they looked it. The sleeves frayed a little, the fabric at the elbows was shinier and thinner than the rest of the cloth, and they were a bit short for him too. The others pulled them on in silence. The looks they exchanged showed that they didn't think much of the quality of the robes either, but the tiny dwarf professor was supervising them and talking nineteen to the dozen whilst doing so.

"...bit faded I know, but the cloth is still quite solid, and if you notice any tears or fraying I can mend that for you in a jiffy. Ah yes, Mr... Valdez, is it? Here we go then, that's it. _Reparo. _Done. That should last a good long while, unless you rip it apart with your teeth... Let's see, Miss...? McLean? Yes, a bit short for you, we can fix that. _Prolixo Pannus_. Hurry up now, all of you, the feast is going to start in a few minutes..."

"Why do wizards wear dresses?" Leo asked Percy in an undertone.

Percy shrugged and concentrated on tugging his collar into place. He winced. He really hated uniforms.

"They're robes." Annabeth corrected Leo. "They're a medieval style of clothing."

"I'm sure they must have been very fashionable in the eleventh century." Thalia muttered, wriggling uncomfortably, looking like she was trying to get rid of a lizard crawling up her back.

"You can say what you like, but if they don't have separate spaces for legs then they're skirts. And if the skirts are connected with the top, then it's a dress." Leo affirmed stubbornly.

Annabeth rolled her eyes and went to help Percy with his tie before he strangled himself.

"Your robes are fully black now, but as soon as you are Sorted the trimming will magically turn into the colour of your House." Professor (...Flitwick?) called out above their mutterings, which was impressive considering not one bit of him reached higher than their shoulder blades, not even Leo, who was the smallest among them.

"Professor, how do we get Sorted?" Annabeth asked politely. "Is it a sort of test? Professor McGonagall didn't mention..."

Professor Flitwick chuckled.

"That, Miss Chase, is a secret. But it is a test of sorts, yes."

With that less than unhelpful answer, he hopped down the stool he had been standing on and scuttled out of the antechamber they were in, telling them to wait quietly for a few minutes while he made sure everything was ready.

A couple of them (namely Leo and Frank) were still fiddling with the smaller details of their uniform, so the others took to looking at the walls instead, which like most of the rest of the castle they had seen so far was covered in portraits. Most of them were just portraits of people that qualified in various degrees as 'weird' , but one of them showed a group of dancing girls around a may pole, while another pictured an old lady with a huge wig snoring in the corner of her frame. The detail was impressive, Percy thought. There was even a dribble of spit dribbling down the old lady's chin.

"Hazel, I've just remembered." Leo said suddenly, looking up from his tangled tie with a slight frown, like he was trying to recall something. "In Dumbledore's office, he asked us how we got here and we didn't know how to answer, but you said we used a...a porthole?"

"A portkey." Hazel corrected him.

"Yes, that. How did you know what to say? What _is_ a portkey?"

"I don't actually know, at least not in detail." she admitted. "I assume it's a method of transport used by wizards. Lady Hecate told me to use that if we got quizzed on how we managed to penetrate Hogwarts. She told me, sort of in my mind, just before we stepped into that light portal. Her voice said it in my head, and she sounded like she knew what Dumbledore was going to ask us."

"Well, it _was _useful." Jason conceded, though a slight frown creased his brow. "But whatever precisely a portkey is, it didn't seem to fully convince Dumbledore. He acted like it was still an unlikely thing to have happened."

"Maybe it's really advanced magic and he was surprised we could do it." Hazel suggested, shrugging.

"Maybe it's only something that works if he gives it specific permission." Annabeth mused, deep in thought. "You know, I'm starting to realize just how extensive the power of magic is. So far we've seen moving portraits, talking statues-" ("That's not new." Hazel, Frank, Jason and Percy muttered, thinking of Terminus.) "-the conjuring of objects out of thin air, magical reparation of clothing...and who knows what else they can do?"

"Probably anything you can think of." Hazel said, shrugging. "Though I expect the same old rules won't have changed: dead is dead, can't make anyone love you, etc..."

Percy gave her a curious look.

"You seem quite nonchalant about this." he remarked.

She shrugged.

"Adaptation. Picked it up when I suddenly found myself alive but seventy years from where I was supposed to be." she said, a little dryly.

"-and did you hear the Professor? He said something to make the magic work, like a spell. It sounded like Latin." Annabeth continued, oblivious by now to the interruptions.

"Yeah, it was." Jason answered. "It literally meant 'lengthened cloth'."

Annabeth mused, rubbing her forehead as was her custom.

"So magic can't be used unless you say the spell that makes what you want... happen. The wording of the spells must be incredibly precise - imagine wanting a jet of water and ending up with puffs of steam, or ice cubes."

"It must be incredibly risky," Piper guessed. "If these people can't speak Latin like the Rom- like Jason and Hazel and Frank, how can they know the precise consequences of the spells they make up? Latin is a really complex language; I can barely understand it when I hear you guys make jokes about things at Camp."

"That's because you're wired to understand Greek instead of Latin." Thalia answered. She paused and looked at her brother, her expression suddenly questioning. "There's a thought. Which language do you understand better since you embraced your Greek legacy?"

Jason frowned a little, and struggled to explain.

"It was strange. One day I could speak Latin as fluently as English, and then after that day when I chose 'Greek', it was like my Latin steadily got rustier as I spoke Greek more and more. I'd never really had to thought about it before. When I met you Greeks for the first time, I could understand you and I got better at it all the time, but it became the more natural language as time went on."

"And it's only been, what, a year?" Leo asked. "Damn. Wish I could learn languages that easily. French was torture in school."

"_Intelligere Latin adhuc_?" Hazel said, her golden eyes narrowed with worry.

Jason grinned slightly. "Yeah. Don't worry, I still understand it perfectly, I just can't get the words out as easily anymore."

Hazel relaxed. "Good. I'd hate for you to lose your paternal tongue."

"Greek is his paternal tongue, too." Thalia pointed out.

Hazel waved a hand. "You know what I mean. It's good he can still speak three languages."

"Agreed." said a voice behind them. They jumped and turned around. Professor Flitwick had returned, and was peering at them curiously.

"Three languages, Mr Grace? My goodness, that's rare in a student these days. Which three, might I ask?"

Jason hesitated slightly.

"Three is a bit of an exaggeration, sir. I've studied Greek and Latin, yes, but..."

Flitwick was nodding. "Ah yes, the Old Tongues. Well, I dare say they will prove very useful in you studies, as I'm sure you'll find out. Is it a common thing for students to study Greek and Latin in America?" he asked, looking at each of them in turn, his keen eyes glittering with ferocious intellect. Annabeth fought the urge to gulp. This little but formidable man was the same sort as Dumbledore: nearly impossible to trick, but perhaps just about possible to mislead.

"Maybe." she said, with a shrug. "We do in our school, but I can't say if students in others do as well."

"It's sort of essential, to understand what we're dealing with." Piper elaborated vaguely.

Flitwick nodded, looking most impressed. "Yes, I imagine understanding the roots and components of spells must be tremendously helpful to comprehend theory. Perhaps even to cast the spell itself non-verbally - have you started that yet in...?"

"Mythomagic? No. Not yet. Our teachers want to make sure we get the basics first." Annabeth ventured, constantly aware that one wrong word, one slip-up could betray her total lack of knowledge of magic.

"Yes, a very reasonable thing too, I suppose. Though here at Hogwarts we push students and their limits almost constantly. One thing I always tell my Ravenclaws: when you do something, do it hard. When you think, think hard. When you study, study hard. When you exercise, push yourself until your mind is completely occupied by the activity at hand. You do that, and your time at Hogwarts will fly by, let me tell you."

The demigods nodded dutifully. There was a certain amount of wisdom in that, Annabeth thought. If you could train your mind to focus completely on only one thing at a time, it would save an awful lot of time. She thought back to all those weeks and months without Percy, and how she'd been absolutely incapable of concentrating on anything for more than a minute before worry and guilt kicked in and she found herself setting off in a new direction to find her lost boyfriend.

"Now." Professor Flitwick resumed briskly. "I think we are all ready for you. The first years have not been Sorted yet, so you can witness the horrible treatment they have to go through to join their Houses before you do." he said with a wink and mischievous smile. "Off you go, then. Mr Jackson, if you could lead your classmates through that door... Yes, that one. Good. Quick march, everyone!"

The bubbly little professor scuttled after them as they filed out of the antechamber one by one. For the first time, Annabeth was starting to feel the slight pinching of nerves in her stomach, which for once had nothing to do with the stress of keeping up their cover.

She was crowd-nervous. She hated being the centre of attention, especially if it was people she was going to get to know. She didn't mind talking in front of masses of people if they were all strangers, but she, Annabeth Chase, the chosen Daughter of Athena to return the Athena Parthenos, was feeling sick at the notion of having to stand up in front of young, curious, judgemental people around her age. _Hundreds _of them.

Glancing around, Annabeth could see by Piper's slightly paler-than-usual face, Thalia's stony expression and Leo's fluttering hands that she wasn't the only one who was starting to lose her cool. She hurriedly grabbed Percy's hand before they left the chamber, and squeezed it tightly.

_As long as we're together_, the returning squeeze said.

Together, they entered Hogwarts' Great Hall, and gasped in unison. Annabeth was having a flashback of Camp: the sky was above them. As in _actually _above them, there, high up! A closer inspection revealed that it was an illusion, but judging by the starry sky outside, the ceiling was doing a very good job at copying it. Annabeth immediately felt herself relax a little. If she could see the sky during meals, like at Camp, then surely Hogwarts wouldn't be so bad. So far, she hadn't really thought of the impact leaving her homeland would have on her - she wouldn't see her family or many of her friends for a whole school year. But now, as suddenly as she had felt the relief, a wave of homesickness hit her as she stared at the sea of black-clad students before her.

The ringing in her ears indicated that the entire hall had fallen silent at their arrival, and Annabeth could feel her heart pumping and the blood rushing to her face. Oh, how she hated being stared at. She forced herself to remain calm and impassive. She was a daughter of Athena. No-one could best her at being cool in the relaxed sense of the term - except perhaps by a child of Hypnos.

Whispers, mutterings and murmured questions were starting to spread among the crowd of students. Annabeth suddenly realized that their little group had stopped at the threshold of the Great Hall. Professor Flitwick was bobbing anxiously behind them, bouncing on the balls of his feet, wondering why everyone had stopped moving.

Then Professor Dumbledore stood up, an arm outstretched towards them as if to welcome them into his school - an action which, Annabeth was sure, was entirely for show: he knew more about them than he let on. She imagined the other teachers were already aware of the peculiar circumstances of their arrival, but if the students' mutterings were anything to go by, _they_ certainly were not.

"Welcome," Dumbledore called, at large, "to our esteemed newcomers. May I present to everyone here your new fellow students, from Mythomagic Institute in America."

The volume of whispers and comments redoubled. Clearly, exchange/transfer/foreign students were a rarity here at Hogwarts.

Annabeth scanned the crowd, trying to evaluate the emotions of the crowd of students. A school this large was bound to have group rivalries, cliques and social prejudices. Annabeth had been to enough schools to know that learning to spot them early would prove to be beneficial in the long term. The students sat at four, long, identical tables that ran the whole length of the hall. The only thing that differentiated the tables from one another was the little glimpses of colour around the students' uniforms. Each table had its own colour: green, red, blue and yellow.

It was hard to tell what the students were thinking: most of their faces still registered surprise, though some of them were grinning widely, and others looked excited. Annabeth nearly smiled.

Looking a little closer, she also saw that some of them also had their eyebrows raised higher than seemed natural, and a little group of pupils with green trim on their uniforms were talking quietly, heads close together. They were not smiling.

Tired of waiting, Professor Flitwick gave Percy and Annabeth a slight push to get them moving again, and they awkwardly walked up the middle aisle until they reached the end tail of a small line of very young students, whom Annabeth had not noticed before. They looked about eleven years old, and most of them appeared terrified or extremely nervous. Annabeth couldn't bring herself to sympathize: at their age she'd already killed more monsters than she'd cared to count. That having been said though, she was far from being completely relaxed at that precise moment in time either. New schools, it seemed, were a universally recognized valid reason to be nervous.

Glancing at the staff table, Annabeth noticed that quite a few of the teachers seemed to be looking at each other in surprise and, for some, utter confusion. So they hadn't been told of their arrival then, Annabeth realized, taken by surprise.

One teacher in articular was shooting Dumbledore furtive and questioning looks. She kept shifting this way and that apparently trying to see if anyone else in the staff knew what was going on. Her movements attracted a lot of stares, because unlike her colleagues, who dressed in dark, professional robes, this woman clearly thought the world was soon going to run out of pink. She stood out among the line of teachers like a peacock among penguins. Her entire outfit was the same garish shade of pink, down to the twee little bows visible on her shoes. She had a similar one in her tightly curled iron-grey hair, Annabeth noted with disgust.

Once, the pink woman's eyes met with Annabeth's, and the girl was immediately transported back to third grade. She'd had a teacher who looked a bit like Miss Candyfloss here, all sweet and girly and soft on the outside, but Annabeth remembered how her eyes bulged like a frog's as soon as a pupil talked back at her. Her cheeks would flush blotchy purple, and she would whisper venomous threats of detention to the rebellious student, until they either paled and backed down or outright laughed in her face. Those who laughed eventually got expelled - usually too quickly to be a coincidence - and even those who didn't often ended up in a month's detention. Sometimes someone reminded Annabeth of that woman, whether by their steel-cold stare or their ugly, square-jawed face, but never in her life had anyone so acutely recalled to mind her dreaded third-grade teacher.

Annabeth coldly held her gaze until the woman looked away, but she continued staring at her until Percy nudged her and pointed at the front of the line. Professor McGonagall was striding across the dais, with a scroll and a piece of dark fabric in one hand and an old-fashioned three-legged stool in the other. She placed the stool down on the steps leading up to the staff table directly in front of the headmaster, then placed the fabric on the stool and turned to face the rest of the school. The crumple heap of material suddenly stiffened and straightened - by itself, Annabeth registered with a small shock - and revealed itself to be, in fact, a hat.

It was big and floppy, but very dusty and patched. Annabeth had an amusing mental image of the Aphrodite girls' faces of disgust if it occurred to them they had to wear it. A large rip near the brim of the hat opened wide...and started to sing.

_In times of old when I was new _

_And Hogwarts barely started _

_The founders of our noble school _

_Thought never to be parted..._

And it went on and on while Annabeth's jaw gradually dropped closer to her knees as it sang, until finally the hat fell silent, and the whole student body burst into applause. The demigods joined in weakly, exchanging a mixture of bewildered, amused and relieved looks.

"So we only have to put it on?" Leo whispered loud enough for them all to hear once the clapping had quietened. "And there was me thinking we'd have to fight dragons, or turn into animals!"

Annabeth smiled weakly. She had to admit she was relieved too, even though she would have preferred a more private method of determining in which House she belonged.

She'd jumped a bit when the Hat had started singing. Okay, talking clothing was something relatively new. She'd known about Hermes' talking staff (well, technically George and Martha were real snakes, but still) and various other strange - often godly - accessories that had the power of speech, but this was...frankly bizarre.

It soon became even more unnerving, as the demigods soon found out.

"When I call your name, I want you to come up here and sit on this stool, whereupon I will place the Hat on your head. The first years will go first, and our new... transfer students will have their turn next."

She cleared her throat and unrolled the scroll of parchment, then called out the first name. Annabeth couldn't help thinking of just how more practical a clipboard would be, and in doing so an image of Chiron swam into her mind, the centaur supervising a 'Capture the Flag' game with an orange clipboard in his hands and a pen tucked behind his hairy ear. Another pang of homesickness knocked at her heart, but she forced it down, deliberately focusing on the small boy who had been called up by McGonagall.

Euan Abercrombie nervously scampered up the steps and gingerly sat on the stool. He was so small his legs barely touched the floor, and the hat was so large it slipped right past his ears until only his chin was visible.

The whole school waited with bated breath. Annabeth was wondering how the Hat would announce its decision; would it shout it out, or whisper it in the boy's ear, or privately tell McGonag-

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Annabeth jumped again and accidentally stepped on Jason's foot. He yelped a bit, and she hurriedly apologized before turning back to stare wide-eyed at the Hat. It was motionless once more, and McGonagall lifted it off a fiercely blushing Euan Abercrombie as he ran towards the table where the students with red trim to their uniforms were loudly applauding.

Annabeth was furiously reviewing this whole new perspective in her mind. The hat could read minds. Who on earth, up high in Olympus or in the pits of Tartarus would wear anything that could - very obviously - reach into your mind and judge the very depths of your personality?

Okay, it had probably been invented solely as a way to Sort Hogwarts students, but mind-reading - no, soul-reading - had _got _to be a breach of privacy, surely?

Annabeth whispered in Percy's ear.

"We can't do this, that hat reads minds to Sort us. If he does that to us he'll know who we are!"

He looked down at her, alarm starting to appear on his face as well. Clearly he had not considered this.

"What do we tell the others?" he whispered back.

Annabeth hesitated.

"Tell them to imagine it's Dumbledore. Tell them to try and keep their minds clear of anything that could link to Chiron or the prophecy or...anything."

He nodded, and bent forwards to whisper to Hazel, who immediately frowned in concern and passed on the message to Frank and Nico, while Annabeth warned Leo and Thalia. A few seconds later, their whole group was aware of this new potential danger, and they waited, tenser than ever, for their Sorting.

Slowly, the line of first-years thinned out, until finally _'Zeller, Rose'_ was sorted into Slytherin, and it was the demigods' turn. They shuffled in anticipation, while McGonagall pulled out a smaller scroll from her pocket and unrolled it. The whole school had fallen deathly silent now, until only the sounds of the pink woman's impatient shifting remained. The tension couldn't have been cut even with the Subtle Knife.

"Chase, Annabeth!"

Taking a deep breath, Annabeth stepped forward and walked over to the stool as calmly as she could manage. Determined to seem unconcerned, she sat down with as much grace as she could muster, and McGonagall placed the Hat on her head. Annabeth immediately tried to clear her mind of anything that had nothing to do with what was happening, there and then.

She was older than Euan Abercrombie by several years, but the Hat was too large for her as well. It slipped over her eyes, until she could no longer see anything but the dark, musty fabric. It must have been made on purpose, she realized, so that the students' emotions as the Hat searched their mind didn't appear too clearly and unnerve anyone.

_Ooh, you're a clever one, aren't you? _A little voice whispered in her mind. Annabeth hadn't expected it, but this time she suppressed her surprise and managed not to jump. The little voice sounded a bit like her own conscience, but what it said was entirely out of her control.

_Not the usual Hogwarts student, are you? Very unusual, all sorts of things in here... My, my you've been through a lot! This isn't the kind of mind I'm used to seeing under me. Quite a bit older, I see, and foreign. _

Annabeth desperately tried not to think of anything incriminating, and she heard - no, felt, or maybe sensed - the Hat chuckle.

_Ooh, touchy about privacy are we? Don't worry, I'm sworn to secrecy about what I see in people's minds... A what a _very _nice mind you've got here, too. You'd do nicely in Ravenclaw, just for that... Aah, good amount of bravery too, that's always useful. Good. But you're quite modest, I see, so perhaps not Gryffindor. Eager to prove yourself, but maybe not quite ruthless enough for Slytherin, although there's a fair amount of cunning in here... What do you value most, girl?_

The sudden question took Annabeth by surprise, she'd been concentrating so hard on not thinking of anything. But she didn't hesitate as she gave her answer.

Knowledge, she thought. With knowledge almost anything is possible, provided it's applied correctly and knowing there could always be a part of the puzzle missing.

_Good answer, _the Hat said, rather smugly_. I'll be sure to nominate it as a possible riddle for the Ravenclaw Common Room. Now, unless I'm much mistaken, that makes you a-_

"RAVENCLAW!"

Annabeth gave an unpredicted sigh of relief and removed the Hat from her head. She would never, she decided, ever _ever_ let something into her mind again. Her mind was her sanctuary, the place where things usually made sense - not something to be prodded and poked and explored at leisure by dusty old garments.

She was so preoccupied by what she'd just experienced that she didn't realize the Ravenclaw table, the one where students wore blue-trimmed uniforms, was applauding, whistling, and yelling and so loudly that the nearest teachers at the Staff table had their hands clamped over their ears. Annabeth walked quickly over to the table and sat down at the nearest space, smiling tersely at her new housemates, hurriedly shook a few hands held out at her and turned back to watch the sorting. Suddenly isolated by more than a few yards of her friends, she felt isolated, and found herself fervently wishing that someone else would join her in Ravenclaw.

Next came Nico. When McGonagall called out his name, he slouched over to the stool and gingerly put the Hat on his head, the scowl on his face visible even to the ones furthest from the dais.

The Hat and the boy remained motionless for a few seconds. Annabeth wondered how long her Sorting had taken. It had felt like nearly a minute, but she knew the human mind well enough to know that time passed more quickly mentally than in real life.

A second later, the Hat became rigid and yelled "SLYTHERIN!"

Nico moodily took it off and made his way to the 'green' table, where the students were loudly applauding him. His scowl barely lessened, but he nodded in greeting to a few of his new housemates as he sat down.

Next, Jason was called up. The Hat barely touched his head before it yelled "GRYFFINDOR!"

Jason grinned sheepishly and joined the 'red' table, where the Gryffindors were applauding more loudly than any other table so far. Annabeth remembered something about Gryffindors being brave, but reckless and maybe boisterous. She grinned a bit, suspecting she knew who else was going to end up in Gryffindor.

Predictably, Thalia was also placed in Gryffindor, and she high-fived Jason as she sat down next to him, to equally thunderous applause. Next came Percy. Annabeth crossed her fingers, hoping against all odds that the Hat could discern some hidden genius in him and place him in Ravenclaw with her.

But the Hat was having none of it. The Hat had been on his head for a second when the Hat yelled "GRYFFINDOR!" for the third time.

Percy visibly blew out his cheeks in relief and waved at Jason and Thalia as he jogged over to the Gryffindor table. As he sat down next to Thalia he looked straight at Annabeth and gave her thumbs up. He mouthed _See you later_, to which she nodded and grinned brightly, trying not to show the sharp pinch of disappointment that they were once more being separated.

It was Hazel's turn after that. She glided up the steps like a woodland fairy, so small and delicate did she seem against the magnificent splendour of Hogwarts' Great Hall. Actually, glancing around, Annabeth noticed that their plates and cutlery were - what looked like - solid gold. Her eyes widened. To demigods, gold was of course inferior to celestial bronze and Stygian iron, but _eating _from it was still pretty damn impressive.

Hazel took a long time to get Sorted. A few whispers around Annabeth told her that this was sometimes referred to as a 'Hat-Stall' - when the Sorting Hat took an unusual amount of time to determine a student's House. Finally, after nearly two minutes, the Hat' rip opened wide and yelled out "HUFFLEPUFF!".

The last table to receive one of the demigods among their midst, the one full of students in yellow-trimmed uniforms, erupted into applause. Judging by the excited shrieks that came from the younger children and the polite but equally loud clapping of the elder students, they had not thought they would get any of the Americans. Annabeth smiled, a little sadly. If people in her world greeted foreigners with such enthusiasm as they did here, then Romans would never have had to blossom away from the Greeks, and war would be a rare and pointless thing. War was seldom anything else than pointless, she knew, but there were times when there did at least appear to be a good reason to fight, such as defending your home. But whenever Annabeth thought of all those colonial, expansionist wars fought in the name of conquest and imperialism, she felt sick. All those families torn apart forever, all those lives lost... Hades must have had a field day every time an emperor decided he fancied his neighbour's land, she thought dryly.

Her unexpected and morose line of thought was rather thankfully interrupted when McGonagall called for Piper to come to the front. The hall fell silent once more, though this time there seemed to be slightly more of an air of expectation: whenever Piper moved, she attracted stares, and whenever she spoke all attention was on her. Annabeth wasn't jealous of her for that, and she knew for a fact Piper hated attracting so much attentions, but she did wonder at how powerful her friend was. Simply by walking up a few steps and sitting down, for example, Piper caused every boy in Hogwarts - maybe even some girls - to suddenly snatch their attention away from whatever they'd been looking at and stare at her. Some students even knelt on the benches to get a better view of this incredibly beautiful and captivating girl. Even from where she was, Annabeth could see Piper was blushing fiercely.

Thankfully for Piper, the Hat went past her ears as well, so she could at least pretend that she was alone and unobserved. Annabeth leant forwards slightly, genuinely curious as to where the Hat would place her best friend. The Hat deliberated for about ten seconds before yelling out "SLYTHERIN!"

Piper snatched the Hat off her head and hurriedly made her way to the Slytherin table, where she was greeted with many whistles and catcalls. She flushed deeper still and sat down next to Nico, who moved up to make space for her and glowered at anyone who whistled too much. Jason waved at her and smiled in a reassuring way, Annabeth saw, but Piper only seemed able to respond with a small, disappointed smile of her own.

There were two more people left to sort, Leo and Frank, and they were shuffling their feet impatiently. Leo's hands couldn't keep still. One moment he was tightly twisting the hem of his robes, then he was ruffling his curly hair, and the next he was cracking his knuckles. His ADHD always got worse when he was nervous, Annabeth knew. Nearly all demigods were the same that way.

Leo was called up next, and he almost ran to the stool, tripping on the last step and nearly snatching the Hat from Professor McGonagall. Several students laughed, and she raised an eyebrow at him. Leo grinned in his usual impish manner and squashed the Hat on his head. Annabeth could tell he was dying to figure out how it worked. She highly doubted he would find anything remotely mechanical in there, though. He seemed to simply refuse to consider magic could work on its own without any 'motivation', as he called it, though as his friends had tried to explain to him three times so far, that was the entire _point _of magic. Anyone who had ever seen '_Fantasia'_ was supposed to know that.

A few seconds later, the Hat had made a decision.

"RAVENCLAW!"

Annabeth smiled gladly. At least someone would be with her. She clapped loudly along with the others and moved up the bench to make space for Leo, who immediately started to examine the forks and knives as he reached them, no doubt under the impression that they could probably talk or move on their own too. She patted his back in welcome and swiped his hand away from the cutlery as Frank, the last one of their group, was called up.

If Hazel had seemed tiny during her Sorting, Annabeth found herself worrying that the hat wouldn't fit on Frank, he was simply so big and bulky. Not in a bad way, of course, but he did look like a box-fighter compared to the mousy little boys who had been Sorted twenty minutes before him.

Frank gingerly sat on the stool, and McGonagall almost had to reach up to put the Hat on his head. Like with Hazel, it took much longer for Frank to be Sorted. Annabeth strongly suspected the Hat would place him in Gryffindor, him being the son of Mars and all that. After nearly a minute though, the Hat surprised her - and possibly quite a few other people - by yelling out his decision.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Hazel audibly let out a whoop of delight as cheered as her boyfriend grinned sheepishly and joined her at the Hufflepuff table. She kissed his cheek as he sat down next to her, and he grinned in a dazed kind of way that spoke volumes of how relieved and happy he probably was to be in the same House as her. Annabeth smiled, and felt a twinge of jealousy as she watched them get their backs patted and their hands shaken by eager Hufflepuffs. She would have given a lot to be at the same table as Percy, and knew Piper probably felt the same way for Jason.

But finally the Sorting was over. Everyone was eagerly looking at the plates, but they were still empty. Annabeth frowned and looked up and down the long table. There didn't seem to be food anywhere. Was it like at Camp where you had to wish for it or-?

"To our newcomers, welcome!" he beamed, smiling as though Christmas had come early. "To our old hands, welcome back! There is a time for speech-making, but this is not it. Tuck in!"

Many students laughed, and Annabeth joined in. Leo was grumbling.

"Great, but what are we supposed to tuck int-" he stopped and his jaw fell open as he took in the sight of the table now. It was very literally covered in food, from up to end, from side to side. Every inch of space between the gold plates was now occupied with dishes piled high highly appetizing food.

Annabeth laughed, both in surprise at the same thing and at his face. She ought to have known food was going to make an entrance as spectacular as this one. Granted, it was perhaps not as mind-blowing as whatever food you wanted appearing in your bowl, but it was pretty cool nonetheless. Annabeth looked over to where Percy was sitting and grinned at his expression. He looked like he'd died and ended up in the kitchens of Elysium. He caught her eye and gestured excitedly at all the food around them. She laughed, nodded and mouthed '_I know'_. Only he could get that worked-up about food, she remarked fondly.

Leo had already piled up several chicken wings and dollops of mashed potato on his plate, and was enthusiastically spooning peas on top of that, so she started to help herself as well. Once she'd started to eat - and what delicious food it was - she turned and addressed the boy on her other side. He looked about her age, and wore a badge on his collar that said 'Prefect'. She guessed it Hogwarts' equivalent of counsellors.

"So, er... Dumbledore. Is he always like that?"

The boy seemed surprised she was talking to him, and had to swallow a huge mouthful of food with difficulty before he could answer her.

"What, you mean cheerful and eccentric? Yeah, pretty much. Except when there's an emergency. Then he looks like a vengeful god." he chuckled nervously at his weak attempt at humour and appeared to hesitate, unsure if he could resume eating or if she wanted to continue talking.

Annabeth smiled politely and turned to talk to Leo. Well, she'd seen a couple of vengeful gods. They were a handful to manage, but she could handle them. For the first time, Annabeth really let herself relax. Talking to people her age wasn't nearly as difficult as convincing suspicious teachers of their good intentions, even for the less... social people in the demigods' group (no she wasn't thinking of any names, no she wasn't, and certainly not of so and so. Shut up, brain).

Leo was alternately trying to down as much food as possible without choking and asking mumbled questions to any magical person in sight on how moving portraits and suits of armour worked, so Annabeth engaged in conversation with the girl across from her. Her name was Cho Chang, she learned, and she was pure-blood, and therefore intensely curious about Annabeth and her friends. Annabeth was glad to have female company, so she spent a pleasant half-hour or so chatting with the girl, trying to explain what a telephone was, and the concept of DVDs - or movies in general, for that matter. By the time desserts came around (Leo's jaw once again hit the table in awed ecstasy) she had resolved with Susan to organize a House movie night. Screw magic-tech incompatibility.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Meanwhile, Percy was having the time of his life. Jason and Thalia were on one side of him, and on the other he was getting to know a boy in his year. His name was Alec Malone, and like most of the other people around the three demigods, desperate to know everything about why they were here and how they found Hogwarts. To the first bit, Percy and the children of Zeus just shrugged and said their school was undergoing construction and they had to be placed somewhere, which was more or less what they had told Dumbledore, but as he had asked, without the gory business of camp-destroyed-by-monsters details.

"So what's Hogwarts like compared to your school - what's it called again?" asked the girl opposite Alec with long brown hair that seemed more akin to a lion's mane than a human's capillary system.

"Mythomagic." Percy supplied. "Uh... It's pretty different. I mean, I'd never seen pictures move before, and the talking doors are pretty cool."

"And the suits of armour." Thalia added, munching a stick of broccoli. "Aren't there ever any issues involving stolen weapons, and pissed-off suits of armour bereft of said weapons?"

The girl looked shocked.

"Um... No. Not to my knowledge. Unless... Well, you can never be sure with Fred and George-"

"You called?" two voices sounded somewhere to Percy's right. He turned to face who had spoken and saw two twins about their age, sporting identical mischievous expressions and a shock of flaming red hair each. Percy idly wondered if it would truly be rude to ask their mother one day if she'd ever known...er, met - or... whatever - with Hermes. Just like that. The girl Percy and the others had been talking to looked somewhere between exasperated and amused.

"Guys," she said to the Americans, "this is Fred and George Weasley, the biggest troublemakers Hogwarts has seen since Sirius Black and James Potter."

"The biggest troublemakers Hogwarts has _ever _seen," one of the twins scoffed, "_if _you please."

"And proud of it!" the other twin added not a beat later.

A bell went _ding_ distantly in Percy's mind (very distantly, for there was food near him) as he registered the name 'Potter' when the girl mentioned it.

"Really? I'm sure the other two must've been fairly memorable if they can taint your reputation that much." Thalia said, smirking.

"_Au contraire_, my friend." one of the twins said pompously. "We restrain ourselves to allow their memory to live on."

"Teachers can't say we're disrespectful after that, you see." the other twin explained.

"I suppose it's also because Hogwarts has a kind of memory herself, so we couldn't erase their feats here even if we tried." the first twin amended thoughtfully. "But it doesn't matter how you look at it." he said.

"Yeah. We're not picky." the second twin agreed, barely waiting for his brother to finish.

"Either way, we still rule this place." the first twin finished. Percy really wanted to learn how to distinguish them soon, because referring to them at 'one' and 'two' was weirdly reminiscent of The Cat in the Hat, not to mention rude. Watching these two talk was like watching two TV's perfectly in synch, but either one of them occasionally zoning out while the other played on for a bit. Fun at first, but could cause headaches after prolonged exposure to it.

Percy turned the the girl they'd been talking to at first, the one who had mentioned the name 'Potter'. He wanted to see if his hunch was correct.

"Hey, you mentioned someone called 'Potter' just now." he called out to her. "'Potter' as in... Harry Potter?"

The girl nodded, and two seats away from her a black-haired boy's head turned around.

"What?" he said. "Someone say my name?"

"This is Harry Potter." the girl said, smiling - although for some reason she seemed a little nervous. "I'm Hermione, by the way. Hermione Granger."

Percy held out his hand, first to the girl, then to the newly-identified Harry Potter. The boy glanced at his hand with something almost like suspicion in his eyes, but warily accepted it and shook it. Percy smiled warmly.

"Oh, good to meet you. You're known to us even where we come from." he gestured at Thalia and Jason. "These are my friends. They're new Gryffindors."

Harry Potter nodded politely as they introduced themselves. He didn't seem to be the kind to smile a lot, unlike some kids at Camp who flashed hundred watt smiles every time they did something that in their mind qualified as heroic. Percy was reminded of Nico a little at of this boy's seriousness. They had the same _I've-see-so-much-more-than-you_ look of suffering about them, though at least this Potter kid wasn't projecting the whole doom and gloom aura the son of Hades usually did, and he didn't look as miserable as Nico.

"So. The guy who defeated Voldemort, huh? And as a baby, or so I hear. Must be a shock to see him back."

Sudden silence fell on the small part of the table they occupied. Everyone stared at Percy as though his brain had dropped out of his head. Some even looked shocked, and others had gasped as he said the name 'Voldemort'. Percy swallowed a mouthful of chocolate cake - disappointingly un-blue - and forced out a "What?"

"What did you have to say that for?" Alec asked, almost angrily. He was breathing rapidly, and like several others he looked scared as well as shocked.

"You said his name...?" someone, a small girl of about twelve, said hesitantly with the vaguest possible questioning intonation.

"How do you know that about Harry?" Hermione asked, her eyes suddenly narrowed and suspicious.

"You believe me?" Harry himself asked, and his question was the only one that wasn't accompanied by shock or hostile suspicion. His tone was disbelieving.

Percy glanced around for his friends. Jason looked uncomfortable, while Thalia rolled her eyes at him.

"Um... Yeah, 'course. Why wouldn't I?"

"Because the newspapers and the Ministry have been spreading the word about what a big fat liar I was, and that all I wanted was either to attract attention or to disrupt the peace because conflict brings me publicity." Harry Potter said flatly.

Percy couldn't even bring himself to bring his spoon to his mouth again.

"Wow. Er...geez." he said, very eloquently. "Why would they do that?"

"Because they're afraid." Hermione answered, her eyes still slightly narrowed. "They're panicking. Last time he was in power England was in chaos."

"Magical England that is, right?" Thalia asked for clarification. "'Cause we didn't hear much about it in America."

"Then how'd you know about my life then?" Harry Potter said, frowning. "I didn't think-"

"Oh, come off it Harry, you're famous worldwide!" came Hermione's impatient reply. "You're in no less than three of out textbooks, I told you so ages ago - of course they've heard of you."

"Then why are you surprised they knew about me?" he shot back.

Hermione hesitated.

"I'm not sure." she admitted. "I think it was the way you said it." she glanced slightly apologetically at Percy. "It sounded as though you were... Well, um, digging for more information. Never mind." she said, blushing. "I was wrong, I'm sorry."

"Now that's something you don't often get to hear." one of the twins called out gleefully. "Hermione Granger admitting she's wrong. Hear that, anyone?"

She blushed a deeper shade of red, and Thalia flicked a grape at the culprit. Naturally, it hit him squarely in the eye. He didn't seem to mind, and instead he winked at her and held up his goblet in a mock salute.

"Don't worry." Thalia said, turning back to Hermione. "Percy's the kind of guy that'll ask Are you sure he's dead? at a funeral, so I really wouldn't get upset at anything he says."

Hermione smiled a bit, while Percy stuck his tongue out at his cousin and stole her last chocolate biscuit. She retaliated by flicking another grape, which he caught in his mouth, to local applause and laughter.

Presently, Dumbledore stood up once more and silence fell in less than three seconds. It was clear that the man commanded either great fear or tremendous respect. Probably both, Percy reflected, though in the students' case they likely only had reason to respect him. He didn't seem the kind to authorize Filch's fetishes for whips and dungeons.

* * *

**Any requests, questions, comments etc, please review or PM me. I am open to all suggestions. Plus I want this fic to go where you want it to go :)**

**UPDATE:**** The title of this chapter, ****_Ferrum Potesta Est, _means 'Iron is power' - a twist on the original _aurum potesta est_ (gold is power).**


	5. Omne Ignotum Pro Magnifico

**Chapter 5**

**Authors' Note:**

**Hi guys. This one's shorter than the others, but still fairly substantial.**

**Please comment. Your reviews last time were simply amazing!**

**Many thanks to:**

**WhiteWinterStar \- Yes, I thought that would be better. Now they have eyes and ears in all houses, and it's more fun to write :) Thanks for your comment!**

**Airaha \- Thank you; it's worth it to see so many people who like it!**

**Finwitch1 \- Yes, I definitely see your point. I wasn't too sure where to place him either. I decided to put him where he is because he has an outlook on life that sometimes aligns itself with the Slytherin way of thinking, ie: act hostile and uncaring so you don't get hurt any more than necessary, and keep your thoughts to yourself. Have you red FF works like Dumbledore's Army and the Year of Darkness, or the Magic of Torchwood? There are versions of Theodore Nott and Thadius Vance, Slytherins both, who are actually quite similar to Nico. I wanted to acknowledge his bravery and immense strength without putting him in entirely-too-cliché Gryffindor. Plus I wanted at least two demigods in each house, to keep each other company - didn't want anyone to feel left out. I realize it probably wasn't an idyllic choice, but to my mind it was either Slytherin or Gryffindor - after all, he would have made a very dark Hufflepuff. So you see, no ideal placement.**

**Bookhugs: Oh, wow. You have no idea how much that means to me. Thank you! Yes, I wanted to avoid clichés as mush as possible - as you might have noticed ;)**

**Guest Guest: I have no idea if you'll realize this message is for you, 'cause there's no way of tracking you, but thanks for your comment. Yeah, I used Google Translate. Problem was, I entered 'do you still understand', and re-translated the result back into English, which translated as 'do you even understand English?' Yes. English. So I took the best option, but now I've done **_**another **_**bit of research, so I'll change it to "**_**Etiamnum agnosco Latin?**_**" But thanks for that bit of nit-picking; it's good for the soul, isn't it? :)**

**Other Guest: Oh great, thank you so much! He-he, oops... Can we pretend for the sake of the line that she was always much more around in the wizarding world and that, given that wizards live for longer than regular humans, she doesn't know much about technology anyway because she grew up in the early twentieth century?**

**Yet Another Guest: Oh definitely, my friend. I'm having far too much fun to give up now. ;)**

**Okay, here you go then:**

* * *

The whole hall was silent as Dumbledore beamed at the students before him. Percy, who had been starting to feel pleasantly drowsy now that his stomach had something to occupy itself with again, snapped back to full alertness. If Annabeth were here next to him and saw him not paying attention to the man who effectively held sway over their future, she'd smack him upside the head.

"Well, now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast, I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start-of-term notices," said Dumbledore. "First-years ought to know that the Forest in the grounds is out-of-bounds to students - and a few of our older students ought to know by now, too."

Percy exchanged a look with Jason and Thalia. What kind of idiot would place a magic castle right next to a forest, then tell the students 'Do not under any account go in there', and actually expect them to obey? It was so mind-bogglingly ignorant of the typical behaviour of teenagers that it almost seemed to have been done on purpose. Percy didn't know much about wizards as a whole, but from what he had seen of Dumbledore and his apparent lack of ability to take anything as seriously as someone his age ought to, a tiny slither of his more cynical side suspected that that might actually be true.

Percy wasn't particularly bothered by the notion that his new headmaster could potentially be a slight sociopath with a penchant for aestheticism and dramatic flair. He had, after all, been in a camp alternately headed by an alcoholic and pedophobic deity, a cannibalistic fallen soul who rightly belonged in Tartarus, and a middle-aged centaur who enjoyed seventies music. Thus, Percy was used to deferring to authorities with various degrees of mental afflictions.

Plus the forest in Camp Half-Blood was probably just as - if not more - dangerous than this enticingly forbidden bit of Hogwarts that begged to be explored.

"Mr Filch, the caretaker, has asked me, for what he tells me is the four-hundred-and-sixty-second time, to remind you all that magic is not permitted in corridors between classes, nor are a number of other things, all of which can be checked on the extensive list now fastened to Mr Filch's office door."

Percy made a mental note never to read that list in his life. That way he could always claim ignorance should he ever cross the line - which, in complete objectivity, was bound to happen. Especially when nine demigods got stuck together inside one building. Especially a magical building. _Especially_ one that seemed to frequently display the equivalent of big red buttons that said 'Do not press under ANY circumstances'.

"We have had two changes in staffing this year. We are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons; we are also delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher." Dumbledore continued.

There was a round of polite but fairly unenthusiastic applause, which Percy, Jason and Thalia only joined in to make a good impression.

"Who makes wizarding names up, I wonder?" Percy whispered to Jason, who smirked and shook his head. "It's like they're _begging _to be made fun of."

"Tryouts for the House Quidditch teams will take place on the -'

Dumbledore broke off suddenly, because the little pink woman Percy had at first mistaken for a papier-mâché piñata had gotten up and started to join him at the front of the dais. The difference in height between them was so large it was comic, especially since the woman, now that she was on her feet, was revealed to be almost as squat as she was tall, and resembled a Cercops wrapped in candy-floss. Her stumpy, slightly bowed legs added to the effect rather impressively.

Percy disliked her immediately. He had noticed her earlier just before the Sorting because she could not keep still in her seat, and now that she was very deliberately the centre of everyone's attention - honestly, not even Clarisse would've interrupted Chiron or Mr. D like that - Percy suddenly felt the urge to uncap Riptide and watch her close. He had that tense, chilling feeling he got when there were monsters around, scurrying up and down his spine, and he felt like he was walking into a nest of them.

A glance at Thalia and her expression of utter disgust told him he was not alone in his analysis, whereas Jason merely looked affronted that someone could so openly flaunt the headmaster's authority. Once a disciplined Roman, always a disciplined Roman Percy supposed, a little exasperated, even if they _had _switched to Greek.

The pink woman cleared her throat. The noise she made was a small, girly, breathy '_hem, hem_' that Percy instantly loathed. The feeling was so strong he was surprised at himself: he didn't usually judge so much on appearances, rather preferring actions to base his decisions on people. But this woman, even her physical appearance, was so completely and utterly offensive to him that after the initial surprise at his vehemence, he did not feel the slightest guilt in hating her on sight.

Professor Dumbledore seemed rather surprised at being interrupted, but after a second of shock passed he smiled and gestured towards her with an arm.

"May I present, Professor Umbridge!"

With that, he sat down smartly, flicking back his long sleeves and adopting an air of such perfect scholarly attention that Percy was sure the wily old man was using this as a test for Umbridge. What kind of test, he wasn't sure. Probably something to do with handling a crowd of sceptical teenagers.

Percy smirked. Oh, how fun it would be to prove beyond doubt that this pink excuse for a teacher was unable to handle several dozen adolescents. He had to find Leo, and maybe enlist the help of the twins they'd just met... Fred and George? If they put their heads together, knowing Leo's genius and the reputation of the twins, something truly spectacular would come up. He made another mental note to mention it to them as soon as possible.

However, it was clear now that the woman wanted to make a speech. She bowed her head towards Dumbledore with a simper.

"Thank you, Professor, for your kind words of welcome. And I must say, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts!" She turned to face the students and her vapid, fake smile widened. "And to see such happy little faces looking up at me!"

'_Looking up_' at her...? Surely she didn't mean _admiration_...? The thought was so revolting in its unlikelihood that Percy couldn't bring himself to care as his face pulled in disgust. Another exchanged look with Thalia and Jason and he was reassured and somewhat amused to see the same expression on their faces. Judging by the smirks on the Hogwarts' students' faces, this woman was not going to be popular, let alone 'looked up' to.

Umbridge's smile had become condescending, and she leaned a little forward as if she were going to share a particularly juicy secret with the entire hall.

"I'm looking forward to getting to know you all, and I'm sure we'll all be very good friends!"

Percy crossed his arms. That settled it. If she was going to treat them all like children - which they were damn well _not_, as Annabeth had asserted so fervently in Dumbledore's office earlier - then Percy saw no reason why he shouldn't be perfectly immature in return. After all, if you acted like prey, you had to expect to be treated like prey, wasn't that the saying? Umbridge was treating this teaching post like a job at the nursery school. Percy would make sure to throw as many crayons, dolls, dirty diapers and play-dough at her as possible.

Giggles were starting to sound across the hall, but Umbridge ignored them and cleared her throat once more ('hem, hem'). When she next spoke, her voice had lost the little-girlish intonations, and her words had quite clearly been learned by heart and were in the slimy, concealing, flowery language of bureaucracy.

"The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance. The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction. The ancient skills unique to the wizarding community must be passed down the generations lest we lose them for ever. The treasure trove of magical knowledge amassed by our ancestors must be guarded, replenished and polished by those who have been called to the noble profession of teaching.'

Here Professor Umbridge paused and bowed slightly to her fellow staff members, none of whom acknowledged her gesture. Professor McGonagall looked positively hawklike, and Percy noticed her exchange a glance with a plump teacher with flyaway hair. Hermione Granger, who despite the utter monotony of the speech was fixated on Umbridge as she spoke, straightened suddenly as Umbridge said 'passed down the generations', and her eyes narrowed. Percy was at a loss as to why. None of this made much sense to him.

Umbridge gave another little 'hem, hem' and carried on with her monologue.

"Every headmaster and headmistress of Hogwarts has brought something new to the weighty task of governing this historic school, and that is as it should be, for without progress there will be stagnation and decay. Then again, progress for progress's sake must be discouraged, for our tried and tested traditions often require no tinkering. A balance, then, between old and new, between permanence and change, between tradition and innovation…"

"This has got to be the most conservative thing I've ever listened to..." Percy heard Alec Malone whisper to someone. "No wonder the ministry chose her to teach here - there's no way _Dumbledore _picked her..."

"Have you _seen _the newspapers lately? The Ministry's trying to control what's going on at Hogwarts. Fudge doesn't trust Dumbledore anymore." another student replied at the same volume.

"'Course not. He says You-Know-Who's back, doesn't he? Anyone who believes in that kind of rubbish is a problem to Fudge, because he doesn't want people to think the situation's out of control."

"What situation? The _Prophet _says it's all lies..."

"Well, obviously. Who's going to believe Harry after what happened last summer? Not many people, that's who, and that's including because the man who campaigned for Sirius Black's innocence is now backing him up..."

Gryffindor table wasn't the only place where attention was starting to wonder. Percy's ADHD rendered him incapable of focusing on only one thing anyway, so he looked around to distract himself. Jason was staring blankly at the Staff table, Thalia was flicking crumbs in the air with her fork, and Umbridge was still droning on and not making much sense to the very much non-wizard demigod he was, so he didn't feel like he was missing out on anything. In fact, Percy noticed that only Hermione was still paying the woman her full attention. No doubt she was trying to appear responsible, grown-up, maybe even respectful, but the small crease between her brows told him she found what she was hearing as distasteful as one of Apollo's haikus.

The teachers were still listening as well, though that was more predictable. McGonagall still looked like someone had liberally criticized her tartan feathered hat, and the whispers and giggling were now running rampart under Umbridge's nose, but still she took no notice and ploughed on with her speech.

"… because some changes will be for the better, while others will come, in the fullness of time, to be recognised as errors of judgement. Meanwhile, some old habits will be retained, and rightly so, whereas others, outmoded and outworn, must be abandoned. Let us move forward, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited."

She smiled widely one last, fake time and sat down. The noise in the hall died down a little, as students slowly realized that she had finished. Dumbledore started clapping, but was joined by precisely no-one, and he very quickly gave up. Percy couldn't help but smirk. He wasn't sure Annabeth was entirely correct to so distrust the guy, but he didn't necessarily like Dumbledore either; there was too much shrewdness and clairvoyance in that clear blue gaze.

"Thank you very much. A most illuminating speech, Professor Umbridge." he said to her, bowing. "As I was saying, Quidditch tryouts will be held..."

Hermione started whispering animatedly with Harry Potter and another red-haired boy, who bore enough resemblance to the twins to be held suspect as family. Both boys looked bored and glassy-eyes, but Hermione's eyes were sharp and still narrowed in concern. She glanced once in Percy's direction, and he smiled at her, doing his best Bumbling-Percy impression. Her gaze was guarded, and she held his gaze for a second or two longer before turning away to listen to Dumbledore again.

Very soon, Dumbledore fell silent and it was time to leave. Jason yawned and stretched before turning to look back at the Slytherin table. Piper caught his eye, waved and gratefully got up and made her way over to them as the rest of the student body started to stand up and leave the hall. Nico wasn't far behind her, and the scowl on his face was deeper still than before the Sorting.

Piper looked relieved as she joined her boyfriend, and nearly flung herself into his arms, to his surprise.

"Hey, what's up Pipes?" he mumbled, his voice muffled by her hair.

"Thank Zeus that's over." she muttered. "Most people in our house are like snotty, stuck-up versions of the Aphrodite kids, with Apollo's arrogance and none of his...nice-ness."

"They all have interesting political views, too." Nico muttered. "Did you know being a pure-blood - having at least three wizarding grandparents - practically makes you royalty here?"

"Well, all societies have a hierarchy." said a familiar voice. Percy turned around and smiled as Annabeth came up to him and hugged him. "It's probably just a way of classifying people, a bit like in our world."

Nico eyed her sceptically.

"Annabeth, the first question they asked me when I joined them was whether I was a pure-blood. The first question they asked _Piper _was whether her family was well-off, and if so, had they arranged a betrothal for her."

Piper groaned and buried her face in Jason's neck.

"Don't even talk about it. Most awkward moment in my life."

"What did you say?" Annabeth asked, curious despite the clear disgust in her expression.

"I told them betrothals were considered archaic in America, as indeed they are in most of the world." Nico supplied smoothly. "Piper was too busy blushing, so I - well..."

Jason hugged Piper with one arm and lightly punched Nico on the arm.

"Thanks, dude." he said. "I owe you one. No-one takes my Piper from me - unless she wants to."

Piper gave a tiny humourless laugh and shook her head.

"Usually I like it when you say things like that, but I'd rather we just forget all this."

"That's gonna be hard when politics and blood purity are all what Slytherins seem to talk about at dinner." Nico intoned darkly. The others glared at him. "What? It's true."

"It was probably just to impress the first-years and us newbies." Annabeth shrugged. "Honestly, how many teenagers do you know are truly interested in politics? According to Dumbledore, Slytherins are ambitious and clever - it makes sense they want to get a feel of your views before they try anything with you."

By then, Hazel, Frank and Leo had joined them as well. Piper raised her head from Jason's chest. She looked a little upset.

"I don't really understand why the Hat put me in Slytherin." she said. "I was being careful not to think too much, about - you know... But he just laughed a bit and told me that was quite a manipulative gift I had. But I'm not. Manipulative, I mean."

"He could sense your powers?" Hazel asked doubtfully. "I don't think he could sense mine."

"Piper's is more to do with House criteria, though." Annabeth pointed out, looking thoughtful. "The Hat probably recognised it as a tool to use people."

Piper looked even more upset.

"But I don't want to use people! I mean - I know I've used it in the past to do that, but it was never _serious_, it was just... And then we were on a _quest-_"

"McGonagall coming." Thalia warned sharply, and they fell silent just as the teacher reached them. She still looked peeved, but at least her ire wasn't directed at them (Percy saw her glare at the squat pink form waddling out of the hall through the staff door).

"Well," she said, her nostrils still flaring wide. "If you'll follow me. Professor Flitwick has informed me your dormitories are ready."

She led them out of the hall, through several corridors and up a few flights of stairs - all of which Percy had no doubt he would be incapable of finding again the next day - until they finally reached what looked like a dead end. However, Percy and his friends had seen enough of Hogwarts by now to know that much of it was not what it seemed, so they hung back a few steps behind here, slightly wary. McGonagall halted in front of the portrait at the end of the corridor. It depicted three women sewing together, and as McGonagall approached they looked up expectantly.

"_Necessity_." the professor enunciated clearly.

The three women nodded as one, and the portrait swung loose from the wall, revealing a hole in the wall. Ignoring the few gasps that came from the group of clustered demigods behind her, McGonagall lifted her skirts with the air of someone determined to retain their dignity, and stepped through the hole through the wall. She made it look so easy that the demigods rushed to follow her, but none of them - not even Hazel or Piper - managed to do so without stumbling or wobbling as they awkwardly climbed through.

They staggered inside the room and looked around with varying expressions of embarrassment, awe and pleasure. The room was small and cozy in spite of the stone walls, well-lit and furnished with many little armchairs. Two doors on either side of the room led off to what Percy assumed to be the dormitories. A couple of low tables stood amidst a few chairs, and a larger one stood in the corner. The room was brightly illuminated with the light of the fireplace - for there was of course a fireplace, Percy noticed, with a mixture of amusement and exasperation at wizards' determination to scream _old-fashioned! _at every opportunity.

"Professor Dumbledore mentioned he expects you to spend time with your respective housemates in your House common rooms, but as you can see, circumstances also call for slight rule-bending." McGonagall said briskly, going to stand near the fireplace to face them all.

"Usually the common rooms reflect the traits of the House, including House colours and motto, but in view of the...ah, mixed selection it was simpler to keep this room bare."

She eyed them beadily, the firelight flashing off her spectacles.

"No doubt you are all tired after today's trials. Toiletries are provided for now, though you are expected to purchase your own soon. Your uniforms will be cleaned anew for tomorrow. I wish you a good night, and welcome to Hogwarts." she gave them a small smile - the warmest one so far.

With that, she picked up her robes and clambered through the portrait hole again and closed the door behind her.

The demigods looked at each other. Most of them were grinning.

"Well." Thalia said. "I think this is better than what any of us were expecting."

"You can say that again." Hazel said, laughing slightly. "Private dormitories, private living quarters - even a room where we can say what we like without having to worry!"

"We're sure it's not bugged, then?" Frank said cautiously.

Hazel laughed, but Annabeth nodded gravely.

"We'll make sure it isn't. I don't know how yet, but we'll get rid of anything that could be spying on us."

"Oh, come on." Percy scoffed. "Is this the whole Dumbledore-suspects-us thing again? Annabeth, he's a teacher. He only cares what students do when they're in his class."

"According to Chiron, he's also the greatest wizard in this century." Annabeth said grimly. "I wouldn't put much past him. I'm not taking any chances."

Percy shook his head at such folly and put an arm around her.

"Come one," he said. "Let's check out the dorms."

They made their way to one of the doors and pushed it open, whereupon they had to walk up a small flight of stairs and they reached another door. Once opened it revealed a similarly-sized room to their common room, furnished with five four-poster beds, matching night-stands and another door that no doubt led to a bathroom.

"Nice." Percy declared, looking around.

The curtains around each of the beds were slightly drawn, so that they looked a little like tents on legs. Percy grinned and threw himself on one of them, crossing his arms behind his head and stretching lazily.

"I could get used to this." he announced.

Annabeth smiled, but then frowned and pushed off his feet from the coverlet.

"No shoes on the bed."

"Well, it's my bed, I'll do what I want on it." he replied, rather petulantly for a twice-saviour of Olympus.

"Well you won't be doing that on mine." she said. "Speaking of which, let's go see the girls' room. This one is for the boys, obviously, 'cause there are five beds."

0o0o0o0o0

After exploring the perfectly functional bathroom, which they were already planning on using as an easier way of contacting Chiron, they went back down to the common room, where the others were still talking.

Piper, Hazel and Thalia joined them as they crossed their small common room. The girls went up the stairs, wondering aloud if there would be any portraits inside, and how awkward - not to mention politically incorrect - it would be to constantly have someone watching them. Suddenly there was a cry of shock, and the four girls turned to see Percy stumbling back from the door way, a look of complete bewilderment on his face.

"Percy! Are you okay?" Annabeth called, clearly worried and hurtling down the stairs again.

"Yeah, 'm fine." he mumbled, rubbing his chest. "Woah. That was intense."

"What happened?" Jason asked, extending a hand to help his friend up. Percy grabbed it and pulled himself up, shaking his head.

"I don't really know... I was following the girls to see their dorm, then I got shocked. It felt like one of Thalia's zapping bolts, but without the pain."

"I can remedy that, if you like." Thalia offered, a slightly evil smirk on her lips.

"Not necessary." Percy mumbled. "I don't think boys are allowed in the girls' bedroom, though."

"Ah. That explains it." Hazel said, nodding sagely. "It's a bit like at Camp, isn't it? Not everyone can go in every cabin."

"Yeah, except we don't zap people if they attempt to go inside in complete ignorance of that rule." Percy muttered. He truly was vexed about the whole matter.

Annabeth just laughed and ruffled his hair. He swatted her hand away.

"Guess I really won't be putting my shoes on your bed, then." he said, giving her a small and slightly sad smile.

Thalia scoffed.

"I, for one, couldn't be happier that boys are forbidden to get in here." she said. "What would Lady Artemis say if she suspected there was a chance of mixed quarters?"

Annabeth couldn't be sure, but she suspected there was a faint trace of sarcasm in her friend's words, which surprised her a fair bit. Thalia had never shown an interest in boys, which had greatly facilitated her enrolment in Artemis' Hunters. But if that was still the case, then what was this about?...

"I'm dog-tired." Piper said, yawning to prove her point. "I'm going to bed. 'Night all."

She kissed Jason's cheek and made her way up the flight of stairs. Annabeth was just thinking she should soon do likewise when they all heard another exclamation, this time coming from the room Piper had just vanished into. A second later, the girl herself reappeared, nearly tumbling down the stairs in her haste. She caught herself just in time and straightened, slightly breathless.

"Look what I found." she breathed. Her cheeks were high in colour and her eyes sparkled with excitement as she held up what she had in her hand.

It was-

"...A stick." Leo said, in an unconventionally neutral tone. "You're excited about a stick?"

Piper threw her hands up in irritated impatience and waved the stick around.

"A wand." she said. "An _actual wand_. Oh, my Gods- Leo, this could be the answer to your questions about magic. And as for the rest of us, we don't have anything to worry about for tomorrow in class, do we?" she beamed and waved the wand again, looking like a little girl who'd discovered flying ponies were real if you happened to be a demigod.

"But... Where did you get it?" Annabeth blurted, trying not to sound jealous. She wasn't, not really, but now that she saw her friend holding an actual magic wand in her hand, she felt a rush of desire for one of her own.

Piper held out a piece of parchment (not paper, parchment. Annabeth suspected she would definitely take some time to get used to things here).

"This came with it." she said. "I think... I think it's from Hecate."

Annabeth took the slip of parchment and turned it the right way up. The elegant, spindly handwriting on it read: _I see you have succeeded in the first part of your mission. Well done. I believe this may be useful for the near future. Your wand is made of rosewood, and the core is a single hair from the eldest veela the world has known. Use it well._

It wasn't signed, but at the bottom of the note the paper starkly showed a sigil of three flaming torches fanning out. It was from Hecate, all right.

"Now that," said Leo, who had been reading over her shoulder, "is seriously cool. What's a veela?"

"I have no idea." Piper said, examining every inch of her new wand. There were faint carvings on the thicker end of it, like deliberate groves to keep the grip steady. The wand was long, fine, and prettily carved, but rosewood was known for its toughness. No doubt it was stronger than it looked, much like Piper herself.

"I'm gonna see if I've got one!" Leo declared, sprinting up the stairs to the boys' dormitory.

Percy grimaced and called after him.

"Er... Leo, I don't think you'll find one, we've just been up there and there was no sign-"

He was interrupted by a whoop of delight, followed by the sounds of Leo running down the stairs, losing his balance and crashing in a tangled heap on the flagstones at the bottom. The demigods rushed to his side to see if he was all right, but before anyone could reach him Leo's thin arm rose above his crumpled form, triumphantly holding a wand of his own.

"I've got one!" he crowed. "_And _a piece of paper. Love a piece of paper; never know when they're useful. Well, I guess if it's the only thing left in the world then it's not _too _useful, unless it tells you how to get to another universe." he picked himself up and dusted off his combat trousers. "And paperwork, paperwork is fun too. The stuff you can make with it! Snowballs! Planes! Party hats! I swear, Nyssa made an admiral's hat once, with, like, twelve sheets of gas bills her Mom wasn't too happy ab-"

"Leo, did you knock your head when you fell down?" Hazel asked cautiously.

Leo shook his dark curls out of his eyes.

"Course not. Why would you think that?"

"Cause you're more excited about a piece of paper than a magic wand." Jason explained, as though he were explaining to an depressive Empousa that humans generally weren't considered dinner.

Leo grinned.

"Oh, yeah. Wand. Right, then." He unrolled the piece of paper he was holding and read it out loud. It was the same message overall, but his wand characteristics were- "_ash, and the core is a phoenix's feather_."

Leo looked up, and suddenly he looked like one of Santa's elves on a sugar high.

"This is _so_ cool. It's _ash_. As in ashes, get it? 'Cause I can do fire?" He was so excited he was waving the paper around but not realizing that smoke trailed from it like an Aphrodite camper after Adonis.

"That's it." Annabeth declared. "I want one."

She pivoted and returned to the room Piper had come from, eagerly wanting to see if she too had been gifted with a similar tool. Usually, she would feel suspicious, even fearful that it was a trick, but this time something in her gut told her this was real, and incredibly important. She rushed to a random bed in the girls' dorm, knowing whichever one she chose Hecate would have anticipated it and placed her wand there accordingly.

On the pillow, as she had suspected, lay a long wand of fine wood, carefully displayed next to a folded sheet of paper that was identical in every respect to the ones Leo and Piper had read out. Annabeth reverently picked the wand up, tracing the slight groves in the wood, examining the delicate carvings on the grip. As she looked closer, she realised that the patterns carved into the handle were in fact owls. She beamed in delight, running her fingers over the symbol that meant so much to her and her mother. Owls were the symbol of intelligence, intuition, wisdom… knowledge. Annabeth found herself wondering if her mother would be proud of her if she knew she had been sorted into Ravenclaw, or if she would care at all. Mortal matters had never really been very important to Athena, Annabeth knew. Her mother usually preferred to stay away from matters that involved humans, unless it concerned some of her favourites, like Odysseus. Anyone who had read the Odyssey would know she couldn't keep out of the man's business for more than five minutes.

After thoroughly examining the wand – her very own wand – she unfolded the paper, wondering what kind of materials it was made of. She hoped she would know what they actually were; Piper's wand-core hadn't sounded at all familiar. Hair from a veela? No doubt veela were powerful magical beings, though what they looked like or did Annabeth had less than no clue.

The reasoning behind Leo's wand had been easy. Ash and a phoenix feather; it made sense. Phoenixes were symbols of fire and regeneration, just like Leo could control flames and he had come back unharmed (or, as Annabeth had suspected from the moment his eyes shifted as he told the story, re-vivified) after the whole Gaia-destruction affair.

The paper read: _This wand is made of willow, with a core of unicorn hair. The finesse of its make renders it excellent for Charms, though power__ in the form of magic__ lies not in the wand but in the wielder. The wand chooses the wizard, __Annabeth Chase__, but it is only ever as good as the one who uses it. No doubt you will also discover that wands are not the only form of magic wizards use, especially in times of need__. Nevertheless, __use it well._

Annabeth traced the triple torch sigil at the bottom of the page, wondering if she was imagining things or if Hecate was trying to pass on some kind of message to her. Leo and Piper's slips of paper had been almost identical in content. Why had Hecate chosen hers to convey whatever vague message was written here?

_Power lies not in the wand but in the wielder.__.._

Well, that widened horizons, Annabeth thought wryly, but at least she knew one thing about wands now, as opposed to two minutes ago when she'd known precisely nothing about them.

_Not the only form of magic wizards use…_

That was more informative, though Annabeth was sick of trying to guess and speculate her way around the wizarding world. She made her mind up to visit the library as soon as possible. Surviving in this world would be impossible without doing some research first. Before they'd left Camp Half-Blood she had begged Chiron to let her do some reading on where they were going first, unable to bear the idea that they would be landed in a place where everything they knew - battle-skills, mythology, archery, machinery – would suddenly be of next to no use. But of course, not only had Chiron refused out of urgency, but the wizarding world was a subject of such secrecy that nothing written about it was within her reach to consult.

Annabeth swallowed. It still pressed down on her, like a heavy cloth constantly dragging her down underwater, that her only true weapon had been taken away from her. Her knowledge, which she'd spent her life accumulating, fine-tuning and updating, was suddenly useless. Annabeth supposed that was how coal miners had felt at the discovery of electricity, to see their whole life's work blown away in a few weeks and months – years, if they were lucky.

She looked down at her new wand. She couldn't wait to use it, to prove that she could make the best out of any situation. But there was also fear among the excitement. If she couldn't use it as well as she wanted, that would point out even more blatantly that they weren't from here. Or if on the contrary, her status as a demigod meant her magic was too strong, that would surely be a beacon for any monster around, like yelling_ I'm here and I'm tasty, come and eat me!_

Annabeth thought of her dad, her step-brothers, the goddess who was her mother… She even thought of Hecate and her misty words on magic and power and free will. None of it made _sense_, that what was scared her. If wizards and demigods were meant to be separate, then what in Zeus' name what were they doing here? She missed her home already, her family, her books – she hadn't even been allowed to take those with her – and Annabeth suddenly felt like she was seven again. Lost, clueless, and getting scared at what fate had in store for her.

Wallowing in her gloomy thoughts despite the thrill of excitement at finding her wand a few minutes ago, it was a moment before Annabeth realised she had entered the woeful realm of self-pity again. She shook her head firmly. She was done worrying. Or, at least, she was done feeling sorry for herself because of the injustice of it all. The life of a demigod was never meant to be easy, and even in the hardest times of her life Annabeth had still had friends, people who cared for her, people she cared for in return. There were so many exciting aspects of her life many ordinary people would pay for. After all, who usually got to fight monsters, learn to sword-fight or fly on pegasi?

And this time, she wasn't alone. She had never been alone, not since the dopey black-haired twelve year old had turned up in her life and become her best friend, her boyfriend, her soul-mate.

Was it her imagination, or was her wand getting warmer to the touch?

The thin stick wood in her hand seemed to pulse with a new power, one that she realized had been there since she first touched it, but low enough so that it had only felt like a very hum in the back of her mind.

She examined her wand once more, drawing it to eye-level. The power she could feel nearly pulsing in her hand was almost alien to her, like something else was controlling it. But on the other hand, it felt _right_. Like she was doing this without knowing it but without particularly caring either. The wand felt so warm in her hand, so at home, it almost felt like an extension of her arm.

Curious, and feeling the excitement bubbling away in her stomach again, Annabeth rose the wand slightly higher than her head, cast a look around for anything to modify, spotted the plain white pillow and brought the wand down in a wide arc, focusing all her willpower on turning the stark white cotton a Ravenclaw blue.

The wand swished down, and she was delighted to see it leaving a trail of sparks in the air, as well as a faint fragrance of rain...

But the pillow stayed white.

Annabeth's arm returned limply to her side as she stared at her bedding in disappointment. She'd been sure, in that moment, that she would be able perform some sort of magic. Clearly, wizarding power came with much more than just wand waving and wishing for something to happen.

Curiously, something about that actually reassured Annabeth. Sure, it would be harder to learn, but when there was a method to something, it usually meant that steps and logic could be applied to it, like a formula. If learning to do magic was like learning to solve formulae by applying certain rules, she felt certain she could manage it. There was something endearingly familiar and consoling about maths and logic, she thought. Always the right answer, which always eventually made sense. Much more predictable than wishing for stuff, anyway. Flashes of memories from a long-forgotten film came back to her as she dwelled on the potential dangers of wishing something into existence, and she smiled faintly. The Genie in _Aladdin _could certainly tell you that wishes could be dangerous.

Yes, she decided, far better to learn the method properly, even if it meant long hours of study and a grumpy Percy.

Annabeth heard her name being called from downstairs. Apparently the other boys had found their wands too and wanted to compare.

She looked down at her wand again. The smell of rain was faint, but still there, like mist clinging to the shadows of trees at sunrise.

She grinned. This was gong to be one _hell _of an experience.

* * *

**CHALLENGE ****(Warning: not for the faint-hearted): Two tasks for you, my loyal and most esteemed followers.**

**One: There were several references to various pop-culture works in all the chapters so far. Can anyone find the one concerning Doctor Who?**

**Two: Can anyone take an educated guess at one of the plot threads I have introduced and will be elaborating on shortly? If so, do you think they will have a major impact on Golden Trio events, and if yes, how?**

**REWARD: Anyone with a correct or worth-considering answer will be introduced as a character in this story. The more impressive the answer, the more major the character will be. Details of how this will happen will be sorted out via PM, as I have no doubt privacy is not only expected but desired, for both parties.**

**Once again, words cannot express my gratitude to you all for reading/favouriting/following/reviewing this story. My heart goes out to you all!**


	6. Abundans Cautela Non Nocet

**Chapter 6**

**Author's Note:**

**Hey guys, good to be back!**

**I hope you like this chapter, I had great fun writing it.**

**Oh my gosh, I never expected such brilliant feedback from all of you. Thank you, so much. It's great to know what needs fixing, what you would like to happen, and the way the story is going.**

**So, answers to reviews:**

**ResidentOfCabin6: Thank you, that is high praise indeed.**

**TheSoulDefender: Ditto. I only hope I can maintain that level throughout. Although... shouldn't be a problem with great followers like you :)**

**Guest: Yep, but not at the time you're thinking.**

**Seaweed Princess of the Fandom: Wow, coming from you, that means a lot. I've read passages of your fanfic through a friend; it's great!**

**Risa Silvara: Blimey, in one review you've given me about a dozen ideas. Thanks a lot for your feedback, it was exceedingly helpful, and kudos for trying to participate in the mini-contest.**

**Laonasa Enllyn Avery: You have had your wish :) Thanks for your review.**

**Ilovelunalovegood14: Yes, the dyslexia issue will be addressed shortly. Just to be clear, the notes written alongside the wands were in Greek, because Hecate wrote them, and that's why the demigods could easily read them - even the Romans (I think Riordan actually says something about both Roman and Greek demigods being adaptable to the other's language/alphabet). Also, please don't apologise for leaving a long review: I love those and yours was an absolute treat. Your guess for the DW references is very good, and though it's not the one I was referring too, deserves a mention of 'well-remembered'. As for future plot-lines, those were very accurate guesses, for the most part, though I admit you've given me a lot to think about. I had planned to include many magical creatures in the plot, but Grawp I had completely forgotten about. So thank you, for your great ideas. And thank you so much for taking the time to write your comment, and for your lavish praise. I don't think it's entirely deserved (there are some wonderful works out there) but it warms the heart just the same :)**

**Guest number two: Thank you, I will.**

**Urs-v: Still hoping :) Thank you, I'll keep the dialogue thing in mind. It's just really hard to balance the whole decision-making process the demigods have to make: do they think stuff through and act independently; do they always confer before doing anything? Or on the other hand, do they not think at all and act as rashly as Percy when he sees his friends in danger?**

**Longhour: Your review made me laugh! Thanks to **_**you **_**for sticking with it.**

**BoukieToo: Good guess, but again, not the one I was referring to. The time warps were purely for the dialogue's sake, and the TARDIS reference was, I thought, a tad too obvious to pick as a challenge. But your effort was commendable :) Merci.**

* * *

When Percy opened his eyes the next morning, it was a moment before he remembered why there was no sound of waves crashing on the sand, and why he was staring at the top of a canopy bed instead of the stone ceiling of the Poseidon cabin. When he did remember, he grinned and slipped a hand under his pillow, his fingers closing around the thin stick of wood there.

He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the back of his hand, and sat gazing at Hecate's gift to him.

His wand was of paler wood than the ones his friends had boasted the night before. Hecate's note said it was made of driftwood, which surprised him. Percy didn't think wood that was water-logged and soft due to days floating around in the ocean could be as magical as rosewood, or pine, like Thalia's. He checked the note again.

_This wand is made of driftwood, for the sea will always be the source of your power. The core is unicorn hair. May it help to protect you in times of need. Use it well._

Yep, definitely driftwood.

Feeling more than a little foolish, he gave the wand a half-hearted wave, trying not to cringe at how ridiculous he probably looked. At least he'd had the presence of mind to close the bed curtains before he'd gone to sleep. His dignity was therefore intact in view of his dorm-mates.

Nothing happened as he flourished and twirled the wand a couple more times, so he gave up after a few seconds. He hadn't really expected it to work - even the professors used incantations to do magic, and Flitwick had made it clear non-verbal magic was much harder than saying the words.

Defeated, but not by any means discomfited at the notion, Percy pulled the curtains back and swung his feet out, yawning like a krill-starved blue whale. He stood and immediately tripped over his shoes and something much larger that had definitely not been there the night before.

Cursing under his breath as he clutched his throbbing toes, Percy looked down and saw that the cause for this most untimely bout of suffering was a large brown case, like a suitcase but made of leather, and - like everything about Hogwarts - painfully old-fashioned. Curious despite the smarting in his foot, Percy opened the trunk and discovered several items of clothing (not all of which were uniform, he was pleased to see; in fact, he glimpsed some items he was sure were supposed to be in his wardrobe at home) a few books which he automatically ignored, some kind of metal pot with lots of little glass vials inside, lots of rolled-up yellow paper and a bunch of very ordinary biro pens, looking very out of place among all the other items.

Looking around the dorm, where his friends were still sleeping, Percy saw that similar cases had been placed at the foot of every other bed too. He grinned. Gods could be right douchebags sometimes, but occasionally they did do something that was nothing short of awesome.

_Thanks_, he thought, to whichever deities happened to be listening.

He got dressed in his new uniform, of which only the robes were actually second-hand. The demigods had all worn their normal clothes under the black robes at the feast (with the uncomfortable and rather pointless addition of a tie, to Flitwick's insistence), but now Percy pulled out the brand-new and perfectly sized shirt, trousers, tie, socks and underwear with the faintly familiar feeling of pleased satisfaction that for once the gods were doing something to help.

He crept down the stairs of his dormitory into their common room where, he was surprised to see, the fire was still crackling merrily. No-one was around yet, because it was still only about six o'clock. Percy himself was _really _not a morning person usually. You only had to ask the river nymphs who were tired of being rudely awoken by Percy's body tumbling into their currents, normally as a result of someone having thrown him in while he was still snoozing. However, jet lag seemed to do funny things to the human mind, even if it was part-god, and Percy found himself to be wide awake and eager to explore a bit more before breakfast.

Fifteen minutes later, thanks to several helpful portraits and his own water-sensory intuition, he had found his way out of the castle and on to the grounds, from where he could see the lake Leo had fallen into the day before.

It was a beautiful day. The sky was blue, the sun shone brightly, and the birds had already started their morning serenade. Percy ambled towards the lake, instinctively drawn to the iron-grey waters and its calm shores. There was a narrow strip of small grey pebbles on one side of the lake, and a kind of beach with a wooden jetty at one end stretching about twenty feet into the water. The air was warm despite the earliness of the hour, so Percy sat down on the grassy bank just above the pebbly beach and gazed out at the landscape before him. It truly was breathtaking. He didn't think he'd even witnessed such fresh, vibrant countryside before. The mountains glowed nearly purple in the distance, contrasting with the bright green hills and the clear sky. He was vaguely reminded of Ogygia from the wild beauty of it all.

Percy was more of a city-person himself, though he had to admit this was probably the most perfectly situated school in the world. The area was secluded, beautiful, spacey enough to accommodate the needs of a couple hundred teenagers and twenty members of staff. He had no doubt it was made even more ideal by mortal-repelling enchantments, much like the ones surrounding Camp Half-Blood.

As he gazed out at the horizon, something caught his eye at the level of the forest. A large dark shape was gliding over the treetops, spiralling up and down a couple of times before gracefully disappearing back into the trees. Percy immediately recognised the creature to be a winged horse, rather like a Pegasus, though something about its uncustomary grace and the delicacy of its wings made him suspect this was not strictly the kind of horse he could find back at Camp.

Curious, but not really surprised, Percy made up his mind to go and investigate - school rules be damned. He got up and shook the morning dew off his robes (on second inspection, it probably hadn't been a very good idea to sit down after all, and he didn't know any drying magic yet). Percy estimated the direct distance to the forest to be about a quarter of a mile, and walking around the lake would perhaps double that distance.

Grinning, because he had missed his element, Percy shrugged and walked down to the beach, not bothering even to remove his shoes as he charged into the water. As usual, he was quite dry as the water lapped over his limbs and washed over his entire body as he plunged right in. He could sense it was cold, though he only felt a slight coolness on his skin as he consciously chose not to feel it.

The lake's waters were dark, but surprisingly clear as he easily stroked his way across. The lake floor evened out for a couple dozen feet as he swam, then sharply gave way to a big expanse of water as it dropped down in to an underwater cliff.

Completely undaunted by the dark masses of eerie weeds and cold undercurrents below him, Percy dove further in, deeper and closer to the lake's floor. He was sensible enough not to go through the forest of kelp, because this was not salt-water and therefore not as secure as the sea to him, and he had no idea what kind of creatures the wizarding world would have in its aquatic whereabouts.

Schools of fish swan past him, their lithe silver bodies flashing in the faint light before they disappeared either in the kelp or the darker waters to his left or straight ahead of him. On a few occasions, Percy was sure he saw humanoid figures flitting around in the weeds below, or just beyond his line of sight. He wondered if he ought to take the wizarding world at its word and assume there were merpeople in this place. He had made the unfortunate mistake, once, of calling his godly stepmother and her kind 'mermaids', a non-deliberate slip-up that had cost him a thorough soaking from a huge wave (he'd been on a beach at the time) and an algae-rash that he was sure he was usually meant to be immune to.

Nevertheless, his years as a demigod had taught him the painful lesson of never underestimating the other side; a lesson he still occasionally forgot but not, he decided firmly, on his first day of magical classes.

He swam a little more briskly, summoning a gentle current that bore him in the direction he wished to emerge - partly because he was now sure there were not _just _merpeople in this lake after seeing an absolutely massive dark shape looming ahead of him and disappearing as he approached, which had eerily reminded him of Phorcys' old threats. After that, he wasted no time in reaching the other side and scrambling out.

He collapsed on the grassy bank, breathing more heavily and feeling the need to close his eyes a little. Swimming through and controlling freshwater was always more tiring to him than the sea. He basked in the sunshine for a minute or so, enjoying the warmth, when out of the blue came a few voices calling out to him.

His eyes flew open and he caught sight of several girls waving at him from the water, about twenty feet away from the bank.

Rubbing his eyes and surprised beyond words despite his earlier resolution not to be, Percy approached the water again and beckoned. The girls hesitated, looking at each other with uncertainty as though they hadn't expected to be summoned. After a few moments' hesitation, one of them took the lead and cautiously approached the edge of the water. When she was about ten feet away, Percy called out to her.

"Er... Good morning." he said. "What's your name?"

She was obviously some sort of nymph, because he hadn't seen anyone else around the lake, and her skin had a blue-grey tone that said she wasn't human. Her features were pointed and pretty in the way most nature spirits were, though Percy had yet to have seen anyone like her and her friends.

"My name's Moiragh." she replied, in an accent similar to Professor McGonagall's. "We're Asrai. What's your name, young demigod?"

Percy's eyes widened in surprise.

"How did you know-"

Moiragh laughed in a voice that reminded one of gurgling streams in the mountains.

"No-one's done what you just did for centuries." she replied, amused at his bewilderment. "The mortals here never venture very far from the shore, and certainly not as a shortcut. Nor do the waters of the lake respond to their will." She added with a smile. Her sisters giggled.

"Oh. Right." Percy answered with an eloquence to rival that of Cal's. "Um. My name's Percy Jackson."

The nymphs smiled at him. Percy wondered why they called themselves the Asrai. He'd never heard of that term before; maybe they were the Northern European version of naiads.

"What brings you here?" Moiragh asked him, her curiosity drawing her closer to the bank.

"School, mostly." Percy said. "I had no idea I was gonna meet people like you here, though."

Moiragh shrugged.

"Oh, we've always been here. For centuries and centuries."

"Since the founding of the school? And no-one's noticed you before?" Percy asked, rather sceptically.

The nymph scoffed.

"Of course not. Mortals don't see us, even if we flop out of the water and waggle our hands in front of their faces. It's like we don't exist. But _you_," she said, smiling beguilingly and approaching even more, "_you_ see us."

Percy decided to play the part.

"And how very lucky I am too." he said, hiding the sudden slight awkwardness behind a blinding smile. "The others are really missing out on something."

The Asrai giggled.

"Listen, ladies." he started again, wondering if these attention-seeking girls could be of more use to him than he had at first thought. "Are there any more people like you here? People mortals can't see. Do you know any?"

Moiragh glanced back at her sisters for consultation.

"There are the centaurs," came the cautious answer eventually. "But they're not very nice. They're not mortals, so they can see us, but the only thing they do is threaten to shoot arrows into the water if we don't stop singing."

"Yes, and one of them grazed my arm!" called a nymph behind Moiragh, holding up her forearm, on which Percy honestly could not discern any scar.

"Grumpy horse people." another grumbled. "Who doesn't like opera, anyway?"

"Yes, who?" her sister agreed. "And Elvis songs are so groovy, why shouldn't we sing them?"

"You're the only one who likes Elvis." her friend said, scowling and nudging her in the ribs. "Kylie's much better."

"Nope. Tom Jones." another one joined in. "He's the best. That scowly centaur likes his songs, too. He only shoots arrows if it's not Tom Jones music."

Moiragh cleared her throat.

"Anyway," she said, rather loudly, "it's mostly the centaurs, but there are others as well, because we can hear things that mortals never seem to notice, like laughter and...er, howls. The Forest has lots of different creatures in it, but we live in the water, so we don't see very many."

She smiled rather nervously as she finished. Percy thought she was maybe a little scared of the forest.

"What about those horses with wings? Can mortals see them?"

Moiragh cocked her head to one side.

"We're never sure." she answered honestly. "I've seen a few students jump a bit when one of them flies above the trees, but sometimes they come out from the edge of the forest and I don't think anyone really notices it."

Percy picked at the grass near his feet, frowning in thought.

"Huh. That's strange." he mumbled. "D'you think the students who saw them were... like me?"

The nymphs shook their heads.

"You're the only demigod we've seen for...ages. We don't even know how long it's been. Decades and decades. It's like suddenly ages ago mortals with magic just got cut off from our world, but now... you're here."

Percy nodded. He'd expected that answer, if he was being honest.

"Well, girls, it's been a pleasure." he got up and reached out to shake Moiragh's cool, slightly slimy hand, like a fish's, and determinedly kept his face straight at the touch of it. "I'm expected for breakfast, but you can be certain I'll come and see you again."

The nymphs blushed violet at his words and nodded eagerly. They chorused their farewells as he left. One of them even started the chorus of _So Long, Farewell_ before her sister hit her upside the head and told her to shut up.

Percy made it in time for breakfast in the Great Hall, and to his relief navigation had been fairly simple, since the door he had used to leave was situated right next to the hall. The ceiling, enchanted to mimic the sky, was grey and overcast as he entered, the weather in Scotland apparently as changeable as the school's staircases. He sat down next Thalia, who was eating an apple. She did so by slicing morsels from it with a sharp knife that was hers - not the rounded gold ones they had used the night before - and earning many concerned stares.

"Morning, stranger." she greeted him, putting a slice of apple in her mouth. "Where've you been? Annabeth was going spare."

"Went for a swim." he said, grinning.

Thalia put down her knife and fixed him with glare.

"You did not." she said flatly.

"I did. Met a few very nice girls at the lake, too. Very...spiritual."

His emphasis on the last word registered as he had intended, and her eyes widened in surprise.

"Already?" was her answer to that.

Percy laughed quietly. "Well, we can't complain. Usually it's monsters we attract."

"Well, yeah... But-"

She was interrupted by the sound of a hand hitting flesh, just as Percy's entire torso jerked forward and he nearly spat out his orange juice as Frank sat down to his right after having slapped his back so hard he was seeing black spots.

Percy was winded.

"What...was...that...for?" he wheezed at his friend.

"Sorry." Frank answered, looking a bit uncomfortable. "Annabeth's orders."

"Annabeth's...what?"

"Percy Jackson, how _dare _you disappear like that?" a furious voice whisper-yelled in Percy's left.

He cringed and turned to face his very angry and very aggressive girlfriend.

"I can explain-" he started.

She ignored him.

"Do you have _any _idea what it was like for me to wake up and find you were gone, _again_, with no explanations - nothing! - no reasons to leave, no idea where to find you?"

Percy winced. He hadn't thought of that. He'd known his disappearance between the two wars had upset her greatly for months, but he hadn't expected her trauma to resurface the moment he wasn't in sight.

"I didn't think-"

"No, you didn't think." came Jason's voice behind them. "That's the problem, Percy."

Like the others, he was dressed in his colour-coded uniform and was walking over to them hand in hand with Piper, and he looked grave as only someone related to Jupiter could be.

"Everything we do here is at great personal risk." Annabeth reminded Percy tersely. "I thought we'd established that."

"I know." he said gently, trying to take her hand, even though she'd crossed her arms so tightly there was little chance of finding it. "I know. I just didn't think being alone for an hour would cause an uproar. I've gone off alone at camp dozens of times since the war, and it never caused a problem."

"Camp is our home. This is still unknown territory." Jason said reasonably.

"Here goes the Roman, again." Thalia said, rolling her eyes. "All battle decisions and no gut feeling."

"Let's not make this about Greek and Roman, Thalia." Piper reprimanded her friend gently. "This is about sticking together when we can."

Percy tugged a bit more and finally Annabeth's hand came free of her arms' steely grip.

"I promise I won't go off alone without telling anyone." he told her softly. "I'll leave a note, or take someone with me."

Annabeth's intense grey eyes bore into his, and she held his gaze for a few seconds before squeezing his hand in return.

"Just don't do let that happen to us again." she nearly whispered, sounding uncharacteristically vulnerable. "I don't think I could cope if you really did disappear."

"Sure you could." Percy said, pulling her down next to him and kissing her temple. "You're my Wise Girl, one of the strongest people I know."

She smiled shakily and poked him in the ribs.

"_One _of the strongest?" she scoffed, with a smile.

"Definitely in the top two." he said seriously.

Annabeth laughed, not even needing to ask. She shared his opinion of Nico di Angelo. That kid was the toughest person either of them knew; it had taken the two of them, a friendly titan and a pacific giant to get them through Tartarus, whereas Nico had done it alone. If that didn't get the boy kudos, Percy didn't want to know what did.

The small group of demigods clustered around the part of the Gryffindor table Thalia had claimed, where they were soon joined by Hazel, Leo and Nico. They made a colourful bunch, grouped together like that with their uniform trimmings of various colours and equally colourful jokes, only matched by the sickeningly vibrant pink of Umbridge's cardigan as she entered the hall and smugly sat down two seats away from the Headmaster. Her smugness, to their delight, evaporated quickly as she noticed their multi-house congregation. She was not the only one to have noticed: all around the Great Hall students were staring and pointing at the group of new students who clearly were not aware of millenia-old prejudicial conventions.

Of course, they _were _aware, because Dumbledore and McGonagall's delicate skating around the subject of house unity had been easy to imply from, but that did not make them hesitant in the slightest to flaunt their indifference and, as Leo so eloquently said, 'stick their conventions up Hecate's weasel and her gastric system'.

Indeed, their utter don't-careishness about the whole thing soon spread among the more open-minded students, and some of them even grinned gleefully and went to join their own friends from different houses, now that someone had started the fad. Percy noted with interest - but without much surprise, in accordance with all they'd heard about Slytherin house - that the table sporting green-trimmed uniforms remained decidedly unicoloured, and some of them occasionally shot dark glares at Piper and Nico, who, judging by their pinker-than-usual necks, were very aware of the green on their own robes.

Among the staff however, only Umbridge looked as though someone ought to be doing something to break up this unorthodox grouping of students at meals. She kept glancing up and down the staff table as though trying to catch her colleagues' eyes, but here the other teachers forever endeared themselves to Percy by supremely ignoring her. One of them, whom Percy didn't yet know the name of, even propped up his newspaper between them to block her from sight following very obvious wink-wink-nudge-nudge gestures.

Professor McGonagall soon came down and started distributing timetables.

"Ah, I'm glad I've found you all together," she said, business-like, as she reached them. "Professor Dumbledore has entrusted me with the task of fine-tuning the details of your education here at Hogwarts."

She leafed through her papers, peering over the edge of her spectacles.

"Upon consulting your school files from Mythomagic, which we were able to retrieve late last night, we were able to establish suitable timetables with each of your subjects. I'm afraid, though, that Martial Arts are only partially covered here, and only then in Defence Against the Dark Arts, which focuses mainly on magical defence."

Oblivious to their exchanged glances and slight bemusement, she handed them all a piece of strengthened parchment with a table detailing their classes, room locations and times. There were six periods a day, with twenty minutes mid-morning for break and an hour at lunch. Comparing his with Frank and Hazel's, Percy noticed that he had free periods - presumably for studying - whereas they had not.

"Professor, what does Ancient Runes involve in Hogwarts?" Annabeth inquired, looking up from scanning her timetable. "Is there any use of practical magic in the lessons?"

McGonagall glanced down at the parchment.

"Possibly, though not in the process of actually learning the runes and their uses. I believe the subject is mainly the deciphering and calculation of power of individual symbols. I am not an expert, so I suggest you ask your teacher for specific details, but I do believe magic and incantations come in useful when the runes are laid out and bound together to perform a specific purpose, such as prevention of entry, or a protection spell."

Annabeth nodded, satisfied. She looked relieved that at least one of her subjects seemed based on intellect rather more than magical prowess.

The nine demigods compared their timetables, surreptitiously asking Frank to decipher the writing for them, because the tables were neatly written in very curly, very elegant spaghetti, and saw that they shared the ambiguously-named subjects of Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, Astrology, something called Herbology ("Gardening," Leo muttered. "You're kidding me? I bet Demeter added that for us.") Muggle Studies, Divination and Care of Magical Creatures. Percy noted that Annabeth had two extra ones called Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. Leo also had Ancient Runes on his schedule.

"Well, that's just wonderful." Leo mumbled. "Extra work, and for a subject we've never even heard of."

"Ancient Runes, Leo," Annabeth said, looking pleased. "It'll be like learning a new alphabet, only magical."

"And that's a good thing how, exactly?" Leo scoffed. "We can barely read these," he flapped the timetable around, nearly hitting a passing Hufflepuff, " - oh, sorry - and they're in English!"

"We'll manage." Annabeth said calmly, folding the paper and putting it in her pocket. "Wizards are bound to have some sort of spell to help kids with learning difficulties."

Leo just looked at her, and started to grin slowly.

"What?" Annabeth asked, immediately suspicious.

"Oh, it's just - the irony!" he said, starting to laugh. "Two of the smartest Camp can offer, ending up in the house meant for clever people, and it turns out they can barely read!"

"Yes, shout it out on the rooftops, why don't you?" Annabeth muttered crossly.

"Aw, don't worry about it." Percy dismissed with a nonchalant shrug. "We'll find a way. We always do."

Thalia grinned, then glanced over Nico's shoulder, quickly comparing it with hers.

"Huh, there's a surprise," she said, smirking, "I'd have expected them to add Necromancy to yours."

Nico scowled and glowered at her. The huntress held up her hands and backed off, laughing.

"Sorry, I'll shut up." she promised.

Nico pointedly looked away and ignored her.

"Shouldn't be hard to convince them to include it though, if you like." Thalia pressed on, apparently ignoring all expected conventions of keeping her word. "Considering you look like death warmed up."

To his credit, Nico almost didn't physically react at all, instead glaring so hard at the table that Percy could have sworn the steam rising from the porridge bowl wasn't entirely due to overcooking.

"That's enough Thalia." he snapped at her. "Know when to stop."

Thalia scoffed.

"Big words coming from you, Mr I've-provoked-Tartarus-and-lived-to-tell-the-tale."

"He's right, Thal." Jason said quietly. "That's enough."

Thalia glanced around her circle of friends, saw their steely gazes, and the look of irritation that nobody seemed to get the humour of her jest quickly faded into something resembling shame. She flushed slightly and punched Nico on the arm.

"Sorry, dude." she muttered. "Didn't mean anything by it, you know."

Nico nodded tersely and gave a stiff shrug - a brave but - in Percy's opinion - slightly unconvincing gesture that the remark had left him unconcerned. Hazel, who'd been looking annoyed on her brother's behalf, suddenly brightened, grinned, and whispered something in Nico's ear. No-one heard what she said, but Nico suddenly flushed pink and determinedly avoided everyone's gaze. Hazel leant back and smirked in satisfaction, while Percy made a mental note to later ask Nico what she'd said.

After a slightly awkward silence, Frank muttered that they had better hurry up if they wanted to be on time for their first lesson. They parted at the hall entrance, arranging to meet at the Ravenclaw table for lunch. Frank, Hazel and Nico departed together for their joint Hufflepuff-Slytherin Charms lesson, while the others wandered upstairs to find Annabeth and Leo's Ancient Runes classroom whilst keeping an eye out for the Transfiguration room, where Percy, the fake twins and Piper would be having their first lesson.

Having soon found the Runes classroom, where Annabeth recognised a new acquaintance and dragged Leo along with a hasty goodbye to the others, the four remaining demigods soon regretted not having Hazel with them. The girl truly was amazing at finding her way in all situations, including labyrinthine millenia-old castles. They ambled fruitlessly for a few minutes, the lesson time drawing dangerously close to the present, until Percy spotted with relief Alec Malone who was heading in a certain direction. Transfiguration was a compulsory subject only until fifth year, but Percy knew from their conversation the previous night that Alec still took it. He pulled his friends behind him and followed the Gryffindor along the length of two corridors and several archways hidden behind tapestries before emerging right next to the correct classroom.

Slightly breathless after the quick pace, they bustled in and looked around, unsure where to sit. Seeing as it was the start of term, other students were also choosing their seats, arguing with neighbours, waving at friends, and pointedly placing their bags on a seat next to them in reservation for someone. The demigods found two free desks in a corner of the room without much trouble, and settled themselves down, with Jason and Piper together at the front, and Thalia and Percy right behind them.

The other students were casting them frequent, curious looks. A few even looked disappointed, presumably because the opportunity to sit next to one of them had evaporated before it had even existed. If he was being perfectly honest, Percy actually much preferred it that way. He had nothing against making new friends, quite the contrary, but in such an unfamiliar environment it was always better - not to mention more comfortable - to have familiar faces around you. He hoped the fifth-year demigods had also found a way of sticking together - to hell with what Dumbledore said about fitting in. Nico and Piper really hadn't seemed keen on their housemates last night.

The other students were still openly casting glances at them, and a couple even got to their feet and started to make their way over to the demigods, but Professor McGonagall swept in before they could reach them and make conversation.

The witch strode up the length of her classroom, batting away the few students who were still standing with a sheath of parchments.

"Settle down," she said, her tones as crisp as usual. "Yes, I'm sure we're all glad to welcome our transfer students, Bolder, Woodville, no need to gawk at them like petrified house-elves."

The two students who had been about to come over and talk to them, a blonde girl and a boy with reddish-brown curls, blushed and meekly regained their seats.

McGonagall bustled around her desk, arranging papers, opening drawers and taking out several cages - all entirely too large or the foot-wide drawers, as per usual in the wizarding world - containing small squeaking animals Percy didn't recognise.

"Right. We'll be starting this term with Conjuring spells. They're not due to be officially examined until your NEWTs year, but the more practice you get the better. Conjuring spells are harder than Vanishing spells - which, as I'm sure you'll remember from last year, were far from simple as well. Don't look at me like that Codswallader, I know it's only the first day back, but you've all just had two months to yourselves. This is school; it's hard work. If that's news to you, I may just as well recommend you as an apprentice to Hagrid, though his hard work is a different kind to our own."

Percy exchanged a look with his friends, alarmed at their teacher's steely words. Her gaze was no less cold and sharp as she surveyed the room.

"I will take this opportunity to remind you that this is your sixth year," she continued, her eyes fixing them over her square spectacles. "We expect each and every one of you to pick up the pace of work quickly and efficiently. Fail to do so, and you will find yourself falling behind."

Percy gulped, and beside him Thalia and Piper groaned. Jason sat up a little straighter, but didn't look any more bothered than if someone had announced their expectation to see him at dinner that evening. Percy wished he himself could have that attitude, but unfortunately studies had never been his forte. He was a genius in his own right, Annabeth had once said with a smirk, thinking of the many occasions he had escaped from monsters and hostile immortals using his wits alone, but he was not an academic. It was a shame, Percy suddenly found himself thinking, because whilst McGonagall was apparently not one to attract much liking or warmth, he already had high respect for her, and desperately did not want to disappoint her - or worse, anger her. Her stern demeanour terrified him as much as it earned her his respect.

"The task for the next hour will be to conjure several wood lice each. These Falken Pixies," Professor McGonagall pointed at the cage of chattering small animals, "are here to test your results, should there be any. Falken Pixies are very fond of wood lice, and if the ones you have conjured are faulty, they will not eat them. Begin."

Without much further ado, the whole class started to attempt Conjuring sells. Well, the whole class except four. The demigods glanced at each other, slight panic written across their faces.

"That's it?" Thalia said. "No specific instructions, no steps to follow? "

"What do we do?" Piper whispered. "Do we still try?"

"Only way we're ever going to learn, isn't it?" Jason replied grimly. He pulled out his wand from his sleeve (something the others had seen him do that morning and immediately copied because it was actually quite a good place to put it, not having bags or pockets deep enough). The wand, they had learned, was made of olive-wood and had a core of - Percy still couldn't quite get his head around it - one of _Zeus' lighting bolts_. Percy was willing to bet no-one - _ever - _had had a wand like that, nor would they ever have one.

Jason checked the board, where their teacher had written the incantation, cleared his throat and stared intently at his desk, before waving his wand in front of him and carefully articulating the Latin words which, as far as Percy could tell, meant 'Wood lice bound together'.

Nothing happened. Jason looked disappointed, but unsurprised. He saw the others looking at him with slight amusement.

"Well, go on then, your turn." he said, a little defensively.

Piper giggled and made her own attempt at the spell. When she spoke the words, her voice was laden with charmspeak, discernible even in Latin. Her wand emitted several little beads, tiny and very dark, which scattered on her desk upon impact and rolled to a stop after covering a few inches. Piper gave a small yelp and leapt back, probably not exceedingly comfortable with the idea that multi-limbed crawling things were now potentially going to attack her. Percy knew that she was not squeamish in the slightest, but he also knew that their experience with those murderous nymphs had left a scar, and he did not blame her in the slightest. In that black, poisonous excuse for water he'd thought he could feel things in there too.

Percy leaned forward to look more closely at the beads. They weren't moving. He reached out a hand and prodded one with his finger. It didn't show any signs of life.

"They're not wood lice." he announced. "Dunno what they are, but I bet our Pixie friends can confirm that."

Piper sighed in relief and leaned back forward, looking at her creations with an air of fascination.

"I created that?" she wondered. Her face fell after a few seconds. "Didn't really work though."

Thalia and Jason spluttered.

"But - Piper, you managed to get something on your first try!" Jason exclaimed, sounding a little envious. "You heard what McGonagall said, it's really hard."

Thalia grinned. "You've just performed your first feat of magic."

Piper blushed and modestly looked down.

"Okay, my go." Percy volunteered, shaking his sleeves back and readying his wand, but before he could utter the incantation, Professor McGonagall suddenly appeared next to them.

"Ah, Mr. Jackson. Do continue." she said, nodding approvingly at Piper's mysterious bead creations and looking at him with interest.

Percy exchanged a very quick glance with his friends and swallowed.

"Erm - Okay... Here goes."

He spoke the incantation and jabbed his wand at the desk before him but, predictably, nothing happened.

For a split-second, McGonagall looked slightly disappointed, as though she _had _expected something to happen, but an instant later she had switched back to mentor-mode and was giving Percy and his friends further directives.

"Remember," she said, "it's all about _intent_. Stories about wishes coming true are all very well and good, but in real life you have to be able to picture your creation, design it inside your head, transfer that crystal-clear idea to your wand and _will _it into existence. Willing is different to wishing - I'm sure you've heard of the saying _When there's a will, there's a way_. Even Muggles use it, but it origins from centuries ago, from when wizards and witches were not as hidden from society as they are now, and non-magical folk often asked them for remedies to their problems."

She drifted off, leaving the four demigods slightly discouraged.

It was Thalia's turn at doing the spell next. She cleared her throat and stared at empty space in front of her. It took her a little longer to say the words, and Percy knew she was doing what McGonagall had said and creating it in her mind before making it appear.

When she did say the spell, a couple of beads fell from the tip of her wand and bounced on the desk. Delighted, she gave a small sound of triumph and picked one of them up to examine it. It was slightly different to Piper's, more ovular in shape and a lighter brown in colour. Still not, strictly speaking, woodlice, but it damned well looked like some.

"Wow! Well done, Thalia." Percy said, genuinely impressed. "How'd you do that?"

"Just like McGonagall said," Thalia replied with a nonchalant shrug that contrasted with the pleased sparkle in her eyes. "Intent, and all that. You have to really picture it and... I dunno, will it to appear, I guess."

It was harder than what she made it sound like. Percy and Jason tried again and again, finding it hard to conjure what both girls had managed so far, and even Piper admitted she had felt the charmspeak affect her magic when she'd done it, like it had been forced to respond to her will. When she tried to conjure more woodlice - but without the charmspeak - it wasn't until her fifth try that she managed to produced little beads much like Thalia's. A little later, Jason also succeeded in conjuring five little beads of his own, three of which even had tiny little legs.

With ten minutes left of the lesson, a disgruntled and somewhat pressurized Percy attempted once more to conjure the dratted things. This time, he remembered something he'd been told very recently: _the sea will always be the source of your power_.

_Okay, _he thought_, let's do this my way_.

He stared at the desk, where he wanted the woodlice to appear. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the stick of driftwood in his hand, knowing it had come from the sea, that it had drifted across an ocean for days on end, imbued its waters and absorbed its power. This wood had known the sea, the rolling motion of the waves, the wind and lightning conjured by Kymopoleia, the motion of every current and the wearing down of its edges by washing up again and again on sandy beaches.

Percy started to feel a slight thrum in his wand, as though the tool was hearing his thoughts and responding to them. The thrill of magic ran up the length of his arm, and suddenly Percy could smell salt-water and brine. In his hand, his wand felt warm and full of power, until it felt like the entirety of the sea was at his command.

Summoning to mind an image of many small, brown, creeping woodlice, Percy opened his eyes and spoke the Latin words with as much conviction as he could manage.

Thalia gasped and Piper leapt back again with a yelp. With a startled cry bursting from his own lips, Percy jumped as a small stream of woodlice poured onto his desk from thin air. His concentration interrupted, the stream of woodlice stopped, but the ones already created did not: the wooden desk was suddenly covered with tiny scuttling insects, each one desperately trying to make its escape.

Jason laughed in delighted surprise, while Piper tried to look pleased and revolted at the same time. Thalia grinned and clapped Percy on the back, who was sitting there with a great bit goofy grin, so wide he was starting to look like the Cheshire Cat.

"What a climax!" Jason said, still laughing slightly. "Saved the best for the last minute, did you?"

"How did you do that?" Piper asked. "Those were _real_."

Percy shrugged.

"Remembered where my real powers lay." he said with a small smile.

A look of comprehension appeared in his friends' eyes.

"Right." Thalia muttered decisively. "I'll try that next time."

The Falken Pixies, they would find out in a week's time, had fallen ill and died unexpectedly. Percy would always wonder if his woodlice had been faulty after all, or if they'd been so nutritious the Pixies had simply died of indigestion.

0o0o0o0o0o0

Annabeth was finding Arithmancy very difficult, and trying to pretend she wasn't. Not that the difficulty bothered her: a challenge was always welcome to children of Athena, especially if it involved numbers. The mathematical side of the subject was actually quite manageable, she found in surprise - about the level she had back home at school.

But it was the magical aspect of it she found hard to get to grips with. Her discomfort and frustration with the subject irked her further whenever she was reminded that she had been placed a year lower than her age required. Apparently, you could not take sixth-year Arithmancy - which was NEWT preparation - unless you had an OWL in it, and so she found herself in a class of fifth years. Unlike traditional, core subjects, this class had members of all four houses in it, since Arithmancy was not as popular as, say, Divination (which was renowned for being an easy pass, and thus highly coveted by practical-minded students).

At first, Annabeth had thought of this as an advantage: lower level of difficulty; smaller classroom= closer tutoring; and a more diverse learning environment student-wise. After her first couple of lessons, however, she was to land back to reality with a thump.

First of all, the notion that math could somehow be affected by magic was something her logical mind was finding very hard to accept. Math, it was generally agreed, was pretty much the only exact science known to mankind (well, other sentient creatures too, but that wasn't the point). No giant, omnipotent force - benevolent or otherwise - should be able to change the fact that two and two equalled four.

Yet, apparently with Arithmancy, not only could incantations muttered during calculations alter the result, said results were usually employed as a primitive basis for divination. And also, numbers reportedly had magical properties. Okay, so she'd known about three being widely regarded as a holy or perfect number, and even seven was known for being frequently present in legends. But magic and numbers, she decided for the twentieth time that lesson, were supposed to be about as compatible as oil and water.

Annabeth had no idea how she had ended up doing this subject; Fates knew she'd never studied anything like it before. She doubted Chiron had picked it out for her - and while she wouldn't put anything past the gods she also had trouble believing they would interfere in something so apparently trivial as school subjects.

Still, it was more interesting than Ancient Runes (which both she and Leo so far found disconcertingly easy, because coincidentally they were starting term with an Ancient Greek-based module) and it was so far founded on theory, so once the teacher had explained the basics of a certain kind of problem-solving, Annabeth had more or less figured the rest out by herself. The only big hiccup she found were the incantations, really. It felt ridiculous to be muttering words in a dead language all the while you were scribbling out numbers and symbols and looking for a result.

After failing to solve a particularly hard question for the third time - because she kept losing track of her calculations while she was uttering the unfamiliar words - she turned to her neighbour, a girl with long, bushy brown hair. Her red-trimmed uniform said she was a Gryffindor, though not someone Annabeth had met yet.

"Excuse me," she approached the girl, a little hesitantly, because she was concentrating so hard that a frown was etched across her brow. "Do you think you could help me? I'm kinda stuck."

The girl looked up, and it was a moment before the frown disappeared and her eyes snapped back to reality.

"Oh. Yes, all right." the girl said, graciously enough. "I've finished them all anyway, I was just checking I had the right answers. What are you stuck on?"

"Um... The spell bit," Annabeth answered, embarrassed that she was asking for help in a subject that was usually her area of expertise. "I can't solve the equation while I'm saying the spell - it's distracting, especially when I know that usually math doesn't change just because a few words of Mayan are thrown at it."

"Ah yes, I see." the girl said sympathetically. "Don't worry, it'll come easily enough as you get more practice. Haven't you done Arithmancy before, then?"

"Um, no. Not really. I suppose this was the closest subject they could find to what I was doing back at home." Annabeth replied, fiddling with her wand.

"Really? What was that?" the girl asked, fully curious now.

Annabeth was starting to regret initiating this conversation. Getting into details was dangerous, she knew.

"Math, really. There was very little magic involved." Her eye caught one of the posters that were around the room, and was suddenly inspired. "It was like the history of math; we studied various numerical systems from all around the world at different eras in time. Most of it was just calculations, but occasionally we had to use magic to get to results faster."

Her neighbour nodded, readily accepting the explanation.

"Yes, that's also one of the uses we have for magic in Arithmancy. But maybe the rest of it'll come naturally for you - it did for me. Instinct has a big influence on calculations. "

"Mm." Annabeth replied non-commitally. "Maybe."

She could see the girl was dying to ask more questions, and she was not disappointed.

"You're Annabeth Chase, aren't you?" the girl asked. "One of the transfer students."

"Yeah," Annabeth said with a small smile. "Did my accent give me away?"

"I'm Hermione Granger." the girl revealed, offering her hand to shake. "I saw you get Sorted last night. The Hat took a while to decide for you."

"Does it do that often?"

Hermione cocked her head to the side, reflecting on that for a moment.

"Well, it's not uncommon, but it's pretty rare for it to happen so many times during a Sorting. Two of your friends took over a minute to be Sorted." she explained, the unspoken question clear in her tone.

Annabeth recalled Hazel and Frank taking a while to leave the stool, and wondered if a delay in Sorting meant something particular about the students.

"Mm. If I know my friends, the Hat was having trouble deliberating between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff." she said, smiling fondly.

"Well, that's encouraging." Hermione said, smiling as well. "Good, brave and loyal. Your friends have some of the best qualities there are."

Annabeth nodded, fully agreeing, but questing-demigod suspicion starting to make itself known. Were so many questions normal for someone she had met a minute ago? Was Hermione trying to gain information about them?

Annabeth shook her head and scowled at her parchment. She tried to scold herself for being so paranoid. Of course it was normal; just a teenager trying to be friendly to a new girl. Questions were a perfectly normal part of the process.

Hermione was talking again, so Annabeth tried to pay attention.

"It's lucky for the school you and your friends got spread out across all Houses, actually." Hermione remarked, starting to pack her bag as the lesson came close to the end and Professor Vector told them to finish up. "If you'd all ended up in one or two houses, the others would either have spent the rest of their year following you around out of fascination or made your life hell out of pent-up jealousy."

Annabeth let out a small laugh, but quietly also started to wonder if, after all, the gods were interfering more than expected. It couldn't have been pure coincidence that their personalities matched Hogwarts' four houses so conveniently... could it? And so evenly matched, too. Two in each house, except for Gryffindor, where three of her friends had ended up and in which also, funnily enough, was where their charge happened to be.

Lucky, indeed.

0o0o0o0o0

Nico really should have thought twice about summoning that dead mouse. He really, really should have, because now all the students in his joint Hufflepuff-Slytherin Charms class were standing on every table and bench available, alternately shrieking about inferi mice or zombie rodents, depending on the extent of their muggle background. One of the Slytherins in Nico's year, the blond one with silk trim and expensive cologne that really did not go well with the panicky yelping sounds he was making, was scrabbling about on one of the Slytherin desks, steering his two gorilla friends around him so he was completely immune to potential attacks from undead mice. Unfortunately for him, he couldn't seem to make his mind up if he wanted to keep an eye out for the decomposing mouse or hide behind his acolytes and miss seeing it sneaking up on him.

From his position - sitting perfectly immobile on the bench next to Hazel and Frank and looking around with cool disdain at the panicking students - Nico really couldn't bring himself to sympathize.

It had been that boy's fault Nico had felt black rage and the sudden urge to frighten the Furies out of him. Class had started well enough, with the usual bustle of choosing seats and unpacking of bags, during which the three fifth-year demigods chose to sit together, but as soon as Professor Flitwick had set them a task and practice had started, the stupid blond git had proceeded to make derogative comments at the top of his voice. Clearly, he had drawled with raised eyebrows and a sigh, foreigners didn't know the ways of Hogwarts, because why else would a self-respecting Slytherin choose to sit next to people who were only at Hogwarts because wizarding society felt sorry for them?

The boy's comment immediately caused Frank and Nico to tense and whip around in white-lipped fury, but then, as if that hadn't been bad enough, when Hazel stopped Frank from marching over and punching the blond _cazzo _by taking his hand and briefly touching his cheek, the boy raised his eyebrows, shook his head and voiced, in a tone of the fakest concern possible, that interracial relationships really weren't encouraged, around here - impurities, diseases and all that.

Hazel and Frank's jaws dropped open in speechless outrage, while Nico outwardly remained as still as marble. His eyes, he had inferred from the past few years, were what could truly cause other people to quake in their shorts slightly, especially when he was angry. And right now, no lotus cake nor overdose of shadowtravel could knock him out of it enough to stop the glare he sent at the boy.

Nico knew these kind of people, their prejudices and righteous certainties. Hazel did, too - Jim Crow activists had a hell of a lot to answer for. Of the three of them, Frank was perhaps the most untouched by the injustices of discrimination, but right now he was the one preparing to maul the son of a pox-faced Empousa, while Nico glared a very painful death at him.

Before Frank could try to reach the boy again, Nico restrained him by the arm.

"Leave it to me." He muttered.

Frank reluctantly sat down again, and the blond Slytherin laughed with his friends, proceeding to imitate Frank's burly frame trying to slot back down on the bench without knocking over the one behind him. While Hazel was murmuring soothing things to her beetroot-faced boyfriend, Nico looked around the classroom's corners. In the one furthest from him, to the right of their teacher's desk, was a section dark enough so that the actual corner was invisible. A small, sinister smile stretched Nico's lips as he made a beckoning motion with his hand under the desk. A second later he saw, with great satisfaction, a small mangled grey shape scuttle out of the shadows and make its way towards the group of still laughing Slytherins.

It was another few seconds before the first scream sounded. A girl with dark hair cut to a shoulder-length bob, the one who so far had always laughed first at the blond boy's jokes, shrieked and scrambled up on the bench she'd been sitting on.

"Mouse!" She screeched. "There's a moving- it's dead... There's a _mouse!_"

A few seconds later half the class - boys as much as girls, Nico was amused to see - were frantically copying the girl and standing up on their desks.

"Professor!" The girl shrieked. "There's a dead mouse attacking us!"

Professor Flitwick looked up from his papers and frowned. It was a mark of the strength of his studious concentration, Nico thought more bitterly than he expected, that he had somehow failed to notice any commotion beforehand.

"Come again, Miss Parkinson? A dead mouse?" He replied, his tone making it clear he did not appreciate the joke should there be one, nor the girl's shrill voice.

"Pansy's right, sir, there's one running around the classroom and it's more skeleton than mouse!" The blond boy called, visibly making an effort not to sound too panicked, instead schooling his features into an almost passable expression of concerned incredulity. If Nico hadn't been the cause of the persistent tremor in the boy's voice, he would have applauded the person who was.

"Don't be ridiculous, Mr Malfoy. How can a dead mouse be chasing you?"

_Like this,_ Nico thought. He made a tiny tugging motion towards his stomach under the desk, and another small, deteriorating shape shot out from under the teacher's desk.

Flitwick caught sight of the flash of grey and jumped so violently he toppled backwards off his pile of books - which, fortunately looked like they had previously been charmed to cushion his fall.

"Good heavens!" He spluttered. "Stop that at once, whoever's doing this!"

His words were lost in a cacophony of shrieking students scrambling onto desks, books shoved off tables and Pansy Parkinson's howls for Malfoy to save her.

Meanwhile, Nico and his fellow demigods hadn't moved an inch and were having trouble not laughing - something which Nico thought was actually looking rather suspicious, and was about to surreptitiously suggest they copy their classmates when Flitwick succeeded in picking himself up, waved his wand in one sweeping motion and suddenly the two small squirming mice zoomed into his waiting hand.

Flitwick looked surprised to see _two _mice, and once he had observed the decomposing state they were in he hastily switched to levitating them in front of him instead of holding them. The mice were still struggling, and in doing so bits of dead skin, listless grey fur and small bones kept dropping off and landing at the teacher's feet.

The teacher peered more closely at the squirming rodents.

"Extraordinary." he murmured, barely audible over the sounds of students cautiously climbing back down and angrily calling out for explanations.

"If this is one of your funny tricks, Malfoy, it's completely stupid!" a Hufflepuff boy shouted across at the blond Slytherin as he helped a fair-haired girl hop off a bench.

"Scared, were you McMamillan?" Malfoy countered with a sneer.

"Not half as much as you were; I'd swear with goblin magic that you were one of the first to leave the floor." the Hufflepuff replied coolly.

"Boys, settle down." Flitwick squeaked reprovingly. "This was a silly prank, and no more. No doubt the brilliant moron who thought this up acquired their props in Zonko's. I must say, I'm disappointed with you all," he eyed them sharply, "I expected you to take your work a lot more seriously now that your O.W.L. year is upon you. Such behaviour and disruptive pranks," he waved the mice around, "are unacceptable."

The class grumpily settled back down while the teacher resumed the lesson.

Nico puffed out his cheeks in relief, and smiled faintly as Frank and Hazel grinned at him. The feeling of satisfaction he got, however, evaporated a second later when he glanced up at the teacher's desk and met Flitwick's cool, calculating blue gaze.

* * *

**By the way, I wanted to ask you all: do you prefer answers to reviews at the beginning of the chapter or at the end? Answering individually isn't really an option because I'm just really busy, but I don't want the page looking clunky because of my hectic exam-life. Oh, well. Let me know if you have a preference. Thanks!**

**UPDATE: The chapter's title, _Abundans Cautela Non Nocet_, means 'abundant caution does no harm'.**


	7. Audi, Vide, Tace

**Chapter 7 - Partners in Crime**

**Author's Note:**

**Hi everyone, long time no see. **

**MY EXAMS ARE DONE! **

**Oh, I am so glad. Then again, I have to wait for results in mid-August, so maybe not worth hopping around in excitement.**

**Anyway, here's the next chapter. It's a bit short, but a few more plot-lines are introduced in it and some of you have got your wish of seeing more classes and demigods-in-Hogwarts scenes.**

**Urs-v: Thank you for your repeated input. I'll be sure to use all that data soon. Just as soon as the plot is ready for it :)**

**Finwitch1: Oh yeah... I hadn't thought of that. Hm, I doubt Flitwick could guess they're **_**demigods**_**, but maybe as part goblin he can tell something's off about them, sure. I'll think on it and expand on it next chapter; thanks for that!**

**Thorn : Thanks for your three reviews! Yes, I realised the bit about Argus after I posted the chapter. But I was thinking more on a human level. I mean, even Aphrodite is a cool name for a goddess, but anyone naming their child that has got - er, issues.. right? Thank you so much for your comments though :)**

**AutumnLeaves03: You'll see :-P Thanks!**

**Laonasa Enllyn Avery: That is a beautiful pen-name, and a heart-warming reaction, thank you!**

**Longhour: Glad you thought so, I definitely will. I have the whole summer now!**

**Fanfic-a-holic: That was such a lovely review; I'm grinning now even writing about it! I'm happy you like that aspect of this fic; it's something quite a few people have commented on. I'll be sure to keep that up :) Not quite sure if I ever wrote that quote you cited though; maybe it's from another fic? In any case, the very fact you wanted to quote something back at me is gratifying, so thank you!**

**A Guest Reader/Apple Pie/Stefanovskyellis: We've communicated :) I'll be sure to include all of that once it fits. Please can I ask you something, though? Could you re-send that last email with your answers in it? I seem to have accidentally deleted it, and I can't find it anywhere... Ugh, I hate my clumsiness. Thank you :)**

**Guest: Good :)**

**Seaweed Princess of the Fandom: You have your wish :) Thank you so much. Hope to hear more from you soon...**

**Gopercabeth: ...You'll see... I'm sorry, I'd just rather not get into that just yet!**

**NOTE: Please, if you were wonderful enough to leave a review and I don't address everything you've said, or even at all, it's not that I'm ignoring you, it's just that your comment probably had something to do with the future plot, and not something I want to divulge on just yet. Sorry, if that wasn't previously clear enough. In any case, I'm grateful and touched at any comment whatsoever, so please know that I greatly appreciate any review, favourite and follower.**

**So, here goes:**

* * *

At lunch, the demigods ate and socialized, alternately smirking at each other in response to Umbridge's glares (they had followed through their plan to all sit at the Ravenclaw table) and swapping accounts about their first day of lessons thus far. Rumour had already spread about inferi mice haunting Flitwick's classroom, and since their group was in no immediate danger of eavesdropping, Nico confirmed his role by nodding silently when his friends raised their eyebrows at him.

Percy slapped him on the back and told him he'd make a prankster yet, while Annabeth looked torn between amusement and horror at the thought of him using his powers so publicly. Her eyes shot daggers at him throughout the whole meal, but Nico ignored her. Percy didn't blame him - he was getting weary of the constant top-secrecy lectures too, and it wasn't like they were going to mess it up, right?

Right. He thought so too - or told himself he did.

They separated again after lunch to attend their respective lessons. The sixth-year Gryffindors went outside for their first Herbology lesson. The weather had deteriorated to wet and cold drizzle, and the fine rain somehow managed to detect every single hole and defect in their uniforms, until Percy didn't think he'd ever experienced such helplessness in face of water-permeation. A passing Hufflepuff, hearing them grumbling, sympathetically told them that this was Scottish weather eighty percent of the time. At their horrified faces, the boy laughed and pulled out his wand. He waved it at them, muttering an incantation, and a second later the demigods were warm and dry. They hurried under a greenhouse and thanked the boy loudly over the sound of rain hitting the glass panes.

"Ah, no worries." the boy said with a grin. His voice had a slight burr to it, and at some words even sounded vaguely American. "I'm Patrick O'Donnelly, but call me Paddy. I'd say I'm ashamed to have forgotten your names, but I'd be betraying my house's values."

He laughed, and the demigods joined in. He seemed very friendly, and they weren't shivering anymore, which was definitely a plus.

"I'm Percy. These are Jason and Thalia Grace, my friends."

"How do you do?" Patrick said, holding out a hand to shake. "So if you're so shocked at a few drops of rain, weather must be pretty different in America?"

Percy scowled at the steel-grey sky and muddy grass.

"Yeah. You could say that. No wonder the Romans gave up on this place."

Paddy chuckled.

"Yeah, them ole' Picts drove them off. Lucky the bastards never really reached us Irish folk either, though."

Jason scowled slightly, but Thalia was confused.

"Why not? I thought the Romans conquered the whole of Britain when the Empire was still at its full strength."

"Well yeah, but the Scots and the Irish always gave them more trouble than they were worth. The Romans stuck to England and a few islands - actually even a bit of Ireland at one point, but instead of the gold they were looking for they only got sheep, grass and mud."

"Nice." Percy remarked. "Maybe they didn't appreciate rural _chic _back then."

"No, they were more into orgies, paved roads and vomitariums, with occasional crucifixion on the side." Paddy said amiably. "Explains a lot, I must say."

"Explains _what_, preci-" Jason began testily, but Thalia elbowed him in the ribs.

They reached Herbology a minute later than the other students, but were instantly forgiven because, notoriously, they were newbies and were having trouble finding their way. Patrick was even awarded twenty points for acting as their guide, at which point Percy smirked. Word had it Snape favoured his Slytherins, but clearly favouritism could be attributed to other, less serpentine individuals as well.

Herbology was fun, in a hands-on, muddy sort of way. Percy was sure the Demeter kids at Camp would have loved this subject, but he decided he personally wasn't too enthused by sentient prickly plants that had a habit of sneaking up behind you to wind their tendrils through your hair. The first time it happened to the demigods, Jason had to chop off several branches to avoid Thalia's short black locks being torn from her scalp. He was promptly scolded by Professor Sprout (whose name confirmed Percy's theory that whoever invented wizarding names either had an evil sense of humour or no imagination at all) because apparently, the Peruvian Crown of Thorns was a rare and highly valuable plant.

The next time the plant snared one of her victims (a wincing Percy), Jason made sure to distract Sprout first while Thalia dealt the coup de grâce.

All in all, Percy, Jason and Thalia were quite content to leave an hour later, with mud encrusted under their fingernails and stray thorns occasionally scratching their scalps, but with a feeling of satisfaction that came from knowing that they had, at least, done some good work.

Next came Divination, and Patrick carefully explained how to find the North Tower.

"Go all the way up to the seventh floor, then ask for the knight, Sir Cadogan. Once he gets worked up, follow the carnage and you'll end up right at the tower."

They said goodbye and followed his instructions, though it took them over ten minutes because climbing seven long staircases was only slightly less tiring than swimming up a waterfall with a Cyclops on your back, urging you on with a club.

Speaking of clubs, Percy noticed as soon as they arrived, panting and leaning against the walls, the only painting visible on the landing was a field of grass, with a small grey pony munching away and a stout man in armour pounding at small black shapes in the grass. It was a moment before Percy realised what he was doing: like in a nineties video game, the knight was hitting small moles on the head with a club studded with nails, getting slower at it every second and panting with exertion. Fortunately for the moles, the knight didn't have great aim, and Percy could have sworn they were giggling as they popped in and out of their burrows.

At last, the knight gave up and threw his mace down, flopping down on the grass and removing his helmet, revealing a ruddy face with heavy jowls and a brow streaming with sweat.

"We...feel for you, dude." Percy gasped at the knight, massaging a stitch in his side.

"How...do...other students...survive?" Jason panted, collapsing with his back to the wall and heaving huge breaths.

Of the three of them, Thalia was faring the best, though she was still breathing heavily. No doubt running around as one of Artemis' Hunters had toughened her endurance. Right now, Percy sort of wished a god had had the same bright idea of gathering boys and organising long runs in forests with archery equipment. It seemed all those hours of questing and training in the arena had paid off in muscle and skill, but not nearly so much in cardiovascular performance.

The knight was still panting too.

"To what...do I owe...the displeasure of seeing...your pox-faced visages, you...scoundrels?" he gasped out, heaving himself up by leaning on his mace, nearly toppling over in the process and making his rusty armour screech in protest.

Thalia raised an eyebrow.

"We heard there was a knight in need of a quest." she replied coolly. "Though I can't see any, can you? Too bad rude soldiers can't help us."

The knight puffed out his chest in pompous indignation.

"_I_? I, a common soldier? A pox on your thrice-cursed dormice, young mistress! I have the honour of being Sir Cadogan, Knight of the Blessed Gauntlet!"

He snatched off his left gauntlet, which appeared to be held together by string, and waved it in their faces.

"The honour is all ours." Thalia said, bowing mockingly low. "Tell me, O Knight of the Rusty Bedraggled Glove, where can we find the North Tower?"

"A quest, you say? Very well, 'tis my duty to honour the poor and aid the innocent! I mean... to defend the poor and honour the women and children! No...Hmpf - to protect the innocent, defend the women and children...- er, well, to help people in general, anyway."

"Lead on, then." Jason urged with a wave, trying not to smirk too much.

They followed the knight as best as they could through several more passages, guided by angry yells from outraged portrait occupants as Sir Cadogan charged through their backdrops, alternately yelling insults or singing off-tune verses from medieval ballads about dragons in distress and fire-breathing damsels.

At last, they arrived, red-faced and panting. Many other students were already present, though they looked unsurprised to see Cadogan suddenly galloping around the walls of the tower, challenging various students to duels before being knocked off his little steed by a low tree branch in the painting of an orchard.

Desperately trying to keep straight faces, the three demigods solemnly thanked him for his help and promised they would come to him again for any further quests.

"- if they ever involve lessons in tripping over your own feet." Percy muttered as the knight hobbled away, chasing after his fed-up pony.

Before any conversations could start with the other students, a ladder descended from a trapdoor above them, and it was with several sceptical looks that the demigods followed their classmates up into the Divination classroom. They emerged in a large but stuffy and overcrowded room covered in overstuffed pouffes, low tables, shelves that threatened to collapse under the weight of many delicate ornaments, heavy drapes and incense burners.

Thalia coughed as she straightened up from the ladder, looking around in barely-disguised disgust.

"Well, well. Looks like we found the lair of a magpie." she remarked, fanning her hand around her head to dissipate the heavily fragrant smoke of frankincense.

"Welcome back, my dears." said a misty voice from the darkest corner of the room. Percy peered through the smoke and could just about make out a woman's shape detaching itself from the dark backdrop.

The woman came into the light and slowly ambled towards the demigods, steering her skirts around the cramped furniture in an expert manner that suggested she spent the majority of her time doing so.

Percy didn't think Thalia's comment about magpies was entirely accurate after all. Their teacher, for it was undoubtedly she, more resembled an overgrown jewel-encrusted owl, so draped in necklaces, baubles and shawls was her thin frame. Her eyes were magnified two or three times their probable size by large and very thick glasses that reminded Percy of Myrtle the ghost. The Cercopes would have the time of their lives relieving her of her valuables.

All in all, not an entirely pleasant thing to have making a beeline for you, and Percy gulped as she got closer and rose an accusing finger at them.

"You..." she breathed, widening her eyes dramatically. "I have foreseen your coming... Your friends' as well, of course."

Percy felt his heartbeat quicken. What did this woman know? What had she foreseen? Did she know about the prophecy that brought them here?

"I - uh..." he stuttered.

"You're not... from California, are you?" she asked suddenly, her large eyes still not blinking nor leaving his face.

"Um, no." Percy answered, unsure if she was testing him or not.

"Ah," she murmured, "I thought not. From Ohio?"

"No."

"Precisely, as I had Seen. Texas?"

"Afraid not."

"No matter. Even the Inner Eye can be unclear, at times... You don't have any relations in Mississippi, by any chance?"

"Not that I know of." Percy answered, certain now that she was making this up. He relaxed slightly. He knew how to deal with frauds: play along until they made a mistake, then pounce and reveal them for the monsters they usually were (_mythological _monsters, that was, not necessarily psychopaths or serial killers - although some monsters they'd met certainly did qualify in all fields).

"Ah... interesting." the teacher murmured.

Percy desperately wanted to make eye contact with his friends to communicate his mild revulsion of this creepy teacher, but the woman's steady gaze made it almost impossible for him to break it. At last, she blinked and the slightly clouded texture of her gaze sharpened until she almost looked normal.

"My name is Professor Trelawney." she said, opening her arms slightly in a vague gesture of welcome that was probably meant to be gracious. "Please take the table by the window, for I have foreseen that you will be less distracted there."

"Yeah, right," Jason muttered as soon as she'd drifted off and they were safely out of earshot. "More like this is where we're less likely to die of incense fume inhalation."

"Or of an overdose of '_Enrapture-Me_' tea." Thalia joined in, squinting as she read the label off one of the many pots on nearby shelves.

As the lesson went on, Percy increasingly got the impression that the whole thing was a joke of questionable taste. Professor Trelawney's clairvoyance was evidently a sham, and even Octavian had more sibyllic talents than she had. Her lesson consisted, so far, of using tarot cards to predict next week's weather. They had a chart to record their findings, and would also apparently be using them in the same lesson in seven days' time to corroborate their results with reality.

"Just a simple task to ease you back into the flow of things." Trelawney demurred, floating past them before tripping on a student's bag.

"Are you all right professor?" the bag's owner in question drawled. "Sorry, I thought you'd have foreseen that. Hang on, let me move it-"

"No matter, Mr Finchley." Trelawney snapped in a much sharper voice than the misty tones she'd used so far. "Next time you presume to question the Inner Eye you will lose points, I can predict you that."

"How many?" Percy found himself asking, looking at her directly.

Trelawney turned to him, her bug-like gaze landing on his face with disapproval bordering on disdain.

"One cannot presume to know all the intricate complexities of the future, Mr Jackson." she sniffed.

"Then what's the point of all this?" Percy asked, gesturing at the cards. "Weather's one the most difficult things to predict, especially in Northern Europe. Too many things factor into the calculations: atmospheric pressure, temperature, the direction and speed of the winds - you can't make precise predictions out of that. Most mort- most _muggle _TV presenters get it wrong anyway."

Trelawney straightened and gathered her shawls around her, her eyes now shooting daggers at the son of Poseidon.

"This is no muggle science, Mr Jackson. This is Divination; a branch of magic so obscure and in need of such... subtlety," her expression turned scornful and her thin lips twitched in what was almost a sneer, "that even the most gifted Seers cannot hope to understand it fully - least of all those who disrespect its power."

"Okay." Percy replied, nodding as though he were in perfect agreement with her. "I'm sure you won't mind making a small demonstration, then. You see, I'm not actually sure I understand it at all, really. Perhaps you can show me how it's done?"

The whole class was watching by this point, and Percy had not dropped his polite, pleasant tone - which for him, considering his academic background, was something of an achievement. Trelawney was still facing him, stiff as a rod and immobile, but he had backed her into the corner and she knew it.

A second later, their teacher unfolded her arms and manically readjusted her necklaces.

"Certainly," she answered, her voice misty once more. "We shall even be able to corroborate the results this very day, my dears. The closer the events, the clearer the omens, and so I shall attempt to See what weather we will be having until this evening."

The sky they could see out of the window was iron grey, and though it had stopped raining since their Herbology lesson, the grounds were no less wet and muddy.

Professor Trelawney ceremoniously shuffled her own pack of tarot cards before carefully drawing them one at a time and placing them on the white tablecloth of the demigods' table. The whole class was silent, and looking around Percy noticed some students exchanging sceptical glances and eye-rolling. Clearly, Trelawney's act was transparent to all except herself.

When every card she had drawn was perfectly in line with the others, Trelawney overturned the first one and held it up for all to see.

"The Fool." she called out. "Symbol of optimism, calm and happiness."

She turned the second.

"The Star," she said, "a card of Hope."

She turned the third card.

"The Sun. An obvious meaning." She turned the fourth and final card. "The Judgement. Changes for the better. A new beginning."

She smiled widely. "My dears, I think we can expect these clouds to flee before supper. By nightfall, the sky will be clear and Professor Sinistra will have excellent conditions for star-gazing."

Percy started to clap. Slowly at first, and perhaps a tiny little bit mockingly, but he sped up and before long everyone else was joining in. Trelawney looked flustered, and she nervously rearranged her jewellery again for a few moments before regaining her seat to almost thunderous applause. Had she dared to actually look at her students, she would have seen the amused smirks exchanged and the raised, expectant eyebrows.

"Now, now." she said, her voice low and modest. "It was a simple task. Settle down please, no need for excitement."

Class resumed, though Percy turned his face away from Trelawney and gave Jason and Thalia a meaningful look. Thalia smirked, while Jason winked and grinned.

"On it." he muttered.

Half-an-hour later, with less than ten minutes left of the lesson, the wind suddenly picked up, leaves hit their windows with a slapping wet sound, and the sky darkened to the shade of blunt steel. The howl of the wind suddenly made it difficult to hear Trelawney's voice, and it gathered such force that a window across the room crashed open, letting in a torrent of rain and small hailstones. The unfortunate girls who were sitting under it shrieked and shook the water from their hair as their neighbour leapt up and closed the window with a spell.

Far away, lightning flashed and a few seconds later thunder sounded. Trelawney looked confused and crestfallen, though that may have been due to the drenching of the pack of tarot cards that had been sitting on the wet girls' table.

Meanwhile, Percy cast a side glance at his friends. Jason was clenching his pen, staring blankly at his parchment. His brow was knitted into a frown, and his hand shook slightly with suppressed effort. Next to him, Thalia was muttering very quietly to herself while keeping her gaze fixed on the window that had opened, a similar expression on her face.

"Settle down, settle down!" Trelawney called out. "It's only a storm, no cause for alarm."

"I don't think we'll be stargazing tonight though, Professor!" Percy shouted out over the din of howling winds and muttering among the students.

Trelawney shot him a black look, but otherwise ignored him. Percy grinned. Some people just could never admit they were wrong.

"What? Too uncertain for you to See? A storm like this one, though... you'd think it would do the polite thing and warn ahead!"

Percy reminded himself a second too late that his mouth was not to be trusted to speak of its own accord around teachers. In his defence, he truly had not had the best experience with teachers and mentors and the like, but something told him he had just crossed a line, and apparently Trelawney thought so too.

Five minutes later, he was hurrying down a corridor without the slightest idea where he was going, clutching a piece of paper he had no idea what it said (although he had suspicions) and on his way to seek a teacher he had no idea where to find.

All in all, he was pretty much up Minotaur Dung Creek.

He checked his watch, saw that he only had three minutes before his next lesson, and started to panic slightly. Annabeth would _not _be pleased. He could already hear her reproachful voice.

_One_. _Day_._ Percy Jackson, your first real day in the wizarding world and you couldn't keep out of trouble for a few hours?_

Wincing in anticipation, Percy hurried down another corridor that vaguely looked like it was going in the direction of McGonagall's office, according to what he could remember from the previous day's exploring. A minute later he heard shouting not far off, and it sounded like the shouter was severely pissed off.

"-leave me ALONE!"

Percy jogged in direction of the voice and emerged into a similar passage, where a familiar-looking boy was yelling at tiny man floating in the air. The hovering dwarf-like figure was wearing a shirt in loud orange and pink stripes and bobbing around the boy's head, singing nonsense and dodging as the boy struck at him in fury.

"_Oh, most think he's barking, the potty wee lad, But some are more kindly and think he's just sad, But Peevesy knows better and says that he's mad —__"_

The boy looked ready to rip the man's throat out, so Percy took it upon himself to intervene.

"Hey! Don't you have a Horror Style fashion show to attend?" he called out at the bobbing man, who promptly did a back-flip and twisted in the air to contemplate his newest victim.

"Ooooh, it's Prissy Pussy Percy Johnson!" he cackled. "Lost your friends?"

"It's Jackson." Percy corrected, so used to Mr D's deliberate mistakes by now that he didn't even sound annoyed. "Leave him alone."

The floating clown-like figure shrugged and blew a huge raspberry at him, casually tossing an ink bottle at his head before vanishing with a _pop_.

Percy nimbly dodged the ink and turned back to the student, only to meet the suspicious eyes of Harry Potter.

"Geez, what was that?"

"Peeves." Harry answered shortly. "The school poltergeist. Nothing works against him, except one of the ghosts."

"Huh. Interesting." Percy looked at the ink splattered on the floor. "Er, I don't really know how to clean that up..."

Harry shrugged and pulled out his wand. With a wave and a muttered word, the ink was gone.

"Cool." Percy said, genuinely impressed. "I want to learn that spell." It would be wickedly useful in quests whenever they happened to be covered in mud, monster dust or, more rarely, blood.

"It's a fourth-year spell." Harry said, his gaze still guarded. "Haven't you...?"

Percy shrugged.

"Nah. Not much one for housekeeping."

Harry made a sound like he could sympathize, but at that moment the bell rang and he looked annoyed again.

"I have to go somewhere," he muttered. "See McGonagall. I'll see you around."

"Oh, great. I'll tag along. I've been sent to see her too, but I have no idea how to navigate in this damn castle."

Harry's lip twitched.

"Yeah, I got pretty lost at first too. What d'you need to see McGonagall for?"

Percy grimaced.

"Got mouthy with Trelawney. Bejewelled, crazy old fraud."

Harry smirked, but his gaze darkened.

"You too, huh?" Percy guessed. "Who?"

"Umbridge." Harry spat out the name like it was poison.

"That bad? I knew she was no good. It's the clothes." Percy decided, shaking his head firmly.

Harry's lips stretched faintly again.

"And the voice."

"Oh, definitely. I keep expecting to see her do a cutesy sing-along like Snow White and her birdy friends-"

"I keep expecting her to catch flies like a toad." Harry said, shuddering.

Percy laughed. "You too? Well, a very toady Snow White singing along with her forest friends, then. Probably mentally planning how to torture them later too, I expect."

Harry laughed, and for a moment the anger left his features. When he stopped, the anger did not return, but his expression was one of depressed tiredness, and he looked almost sad.

"What happened?"

Harry's jaw muscle twitched.

"She called me a liar, and basically what I said last night, only she's ignoring the fact that Cedric Diggory was murdered."

"Cedric? Who's that?"

"The guy who was with me when - you know, Voldemort returned."

"He... He was _murdered_, and she's acting like it was all an accident?"

Harry scowled. "Pretty much."

Percy whistled.

"No wonder you got mouthy. I would've facilitated her passage to Tartarus, myself."

Harry looked confused. "To where?"

"Erm..."

"Potter? Jackson! What are you doing, loitering around here?"

They had reached McGonagall's office, and the witch herself was leaning out of the doorway, clutching a sheath of papers, as always. She looked surprised at their presence, and not altogether pleased.

"We've been sent to see you, Professor."

"Both of you?" her eyebrows raised.

"Er, well we kinda met on the way-"

Without waiting for more, Professor McGonagall waved them in, shutting the door behind them as they entered. Percy immediately felt more nervous. He didn't like it when exit routes were cut off, least of all when they were nice and obvious, like doors.

"Well? Explain yourselves."

Percy gave her Trelawney's note and briefly explained what had happened in Divination (though obviously he left out everything about actually causing the storm). He felt slightly ashamed as McGonagall stonily listened to his account, her lips as thin as ever.

When he fell silent, it was a few moments before she spoke.

"When I welcomed you to this school yesterday, Mr Jackson, I somehow got the impression that I had made our expectations of you clear."

Percy avoided her gaze, his cheeks warm with shame.

"You are extremely fortunate to be attending Hogwarts, and while it was my feeling yesterday that you and your friends were fully aware of that, it appears I may have been wrong."

She fixed him with a cold glare.

"I am not often wrong, Mr Jackson, so please do not make this one of those times."

Percy bit his lip, and nodded, still not meeting her gaze.

"Look at me."

He did so, trying not to wince.

"I expect only your best behaviour from now on. We accept only the best, and only the best you shall be. That includes performance, grades, and behaviour. If I get the slightest hint that you are once more flouting our rules, do not expect any further leniency."

Percy nodded, trying to pour all his sincerity into his expression. Under his teacher's steely gaze, he suddenly felt the urge to fall at her feet and beg her forgiveness; for having dissed Trelawney, for having lied to her from the start, for having stolen all of Jason's socks and dyed them pink back at Camp. Her facial expression suggested that he better not speak too much however, so he kept silent and hung his head instead.

"Fortunately for you, Professor Trelawney has written here that she only wished for you to be set back on track, so you have escaped - for the time being - detention." she informed him, scanning the note in her hand. "As for you, Potter... What are you here for?"

"Professor Umbridge sent me, Professor." Harry said stiffly, handing her a pink roll of parchment, which Percy could tell reeked of roses even several paces away.

Professor McGonagall gingerly took it from Harry's fingers with a downward curve of her lips and magically slit it open. Her eyes zoomed across the lines, and her eyebrows tightened with every passing second.

"Well, is it true?" she snapped, once she'd finished.

Harry scowled. "Is _what _true?" he asked, probably more rudely than he intended. "Professor?" he added, more politely.

"That you disrupted Professor Umbridge's class? That you shouted at her and called her a liar?"

Harry's jaw twitched.

"Yes."

McGonagall threw the note in the air above her and made a strange noise, between a sigh of exasperation and an annoyed _tut_. She sat in her chair and removed her spectacles before rubbing the bridge of her nose. She appeared to be thinking through what she was going to say, her eyes flicking between the two teenagers like she was measuring the value of keeping both of them in the room.

Finally, she seemed to make a decision and sighed, leaning forward. When she spoke, her voice was low and concerned.

"Listen to me, both of you. Dolores Umbridge is not one to take vexation lightly. Strike at her again, and she will not let it by."

Percy felt flummoxed at her inclusion of him in this matter.

"But Professor, I never-" he started.

"But Professor, she's lying!" Harry cried, the anger back in his voice. "She's refusing to see the truth about Voldemort-"

"For goodness' sake, Potter!" McGonagall cried, rearranging her spectacles (they'd fallen off again in shock at Voldemort's name). "This isn't a game of who's lying and who isn't! It's about keeping your head down and getting on when it's the thing to do!"

Harry fumed.

"That's what Sirius told me. Tell me Professor, is that what happened last time? When Voldemort was killing wizards and muggles left and right, were the rest of us waiting to see what was going to happen? Was that Dumbledore's plan of action? Was that what my parents and Sirius did?"

McGonagall rose from her chair, resting her knuckles on the desk in front of her.

"Do not reopen closed wounds, Potter." she warned. "These days they are irrelevant, and could lead you where you have no wish of going. What matters right now is that some people are seeking to pick at your every flaw and weakness, trying to expose you as something you are not. You know who Professor Umbridge is, you _know _who she works for."

Harry said nothing, though more out of speechless fury than acceptance, Percy thought.

"For the last time, you need to be careful." Professor McGonagall repeated. "That goes for you too, Jackson. There are forces out there beyond your imagination-"

Percy snorted. That, there certainly was.

"-and ignoring them will almost certainly have disastrous consequences."

"Why won't people believe me?" Harry ground out. "They have Dumbledore's word for it, and mine, and half of the Order's-"

"Potter, use your common sense!" McGonagall snapped. Her suddenly intensified gaze carried a second meaning, and glancing at Harry, Percy could tell it was a warning. A warning not to say too much. "People don't _want _to believe You-Know-Who is back. It's been over thirteen, peaceful years, and they don't want that to suddenly disappear."

"Percy believes me." Harry shot back, rather unexpectedly. "He's not even from around here, he had no cause to believe a word I say about what happened that night in June, but he believed me when he heard about it."

McGonagall cast Percy a strange look, one that seemed to say many things at once.

"Then Mr Jackson's realism does him credit." she said after a beat. "In the meantime, either be quiet around Umbridge, Potter, or find a way to force all of them to believe you."

Her tone was one of dark sarcasm, but Percy found himself wondering if that last idea was actually possible. If the Mist could be used to that effect... Or better still, if Piper could open everyone's eyes (and ears, incidentally) by projecting her charmed voice worldwide...

"You are dismissed." McGonagall told them when neither of the boys said anything in response.

They turned to leave, but a second before Percy could leave through the door after Harry, McGonagall called after him.

"Mr Jackson, one more moment of you time, if you will."

He turned and faced her once more. In the increasingly dim light of the fading afternoon (and the storm that was still raging on), her stern face made her look older than she probably was.

"You may be wondering why you were privy to this conversation. Need I make clear that you are not to repeat a word of this to anyone who may find fault with Mr Potter?"

Percy noted the careful wording, and after a second or so he realised with surprise that she was giving him permission to tell whomever he trusted. He nodded.

"I...think I understand, Professor."

"Good." she said crisply. "Run along, now."

Percy turned to leave and put a hand out ready to turn the door handle. He paused, and looked back at his teacher.

"There's a reason you let me listen to all this... right, Professor?" he asked.

She glanced at him over the edge of her spectacles.

"Why Mr Jackson, why ever would you think that?"

Percy smiled very faintly, extremely confused, but grateful and full of renewed respect for this formidable witch.

When he stepped outside, Harry was waiting for him.

"Well that was fun." Percy commented lightly. "Not my idea of passing time to good effect, though."

"Why do you think she let you stay when she was telling me off?" Harry asked without preamble.

Percy shrugged, nearly as clueless as he was.

"Maybe to return the favour. You were there when she shouted at _me_."

"But your problems have nothing to do with Voldemort coming back to power." Harry insisted.

Percy cast him a sideways glance._ I really wouldn't be too sure of that, if I were you,_ he thought.

"I don't know, Harry." he said with a sigh. "I've gotta go; lessons and all. See you around, yeah?"

Percy held up his hand in a fist. Harry looked at it, mildly confused.

"Oh, you bump it. Like this." Percy gestured for Harry to make the same shape, and gently bumped his fist into the other boy's own.

"Is that how you say goodbye in America?" Harry asked, sounding a little amused.

"Not exclusively. It's mostly a gesture of friendship." Percy said, shrugging.

Harry's eyebrows raised slightly in surprise. The guarded expression Percy had noticed the night before, and just before seeing McGonagall, was back.

"Ah, don't worry." Percy assured him hastily. "I'm not trying to get close to the Boy-Who-Lived 'cause it's you, you know. It's just... It's what me and my friends do all the time."

The guarded expression faded. Harry smiled faintly and bumped his fist against Percy's of his own volition. "I can live with that. See you around, Percy. Keep a lookout for toads."

"You got it."

As he watched his new friend walk away, the bit of Percy's brain that was still tingling with the whole McGonagall-episode was suddenly hit by a suspicion that - he was sure - would've occurred to Annabeth the moment it appeared.


	8. Audemus Jura Nostra Defendere

**Chapter 8**

**Author's Note:**

**Hi everyone!**

**Many thanks to my wonderful reviewers. **

**NOTE****: I've had some comments about the amount of dialogue I put in this story (you know who you are). I must admit, I agree sometimes it can get rather too...theatrical, play-like. However, whereas it would be quicker to recount a lot of stuff in the fanfic through narrative, equally a lot of material can only be (to my mind) properly covered through conversation. So, if you find dialogue a little tiresome, I **_**am **_**sorry. Truly. This chapter has a lot of it. But in my defence I've reduced it as much as possible. (It's **_**hard **_**to control this fic, I swear it has a life of its own.)**

* * *

Leo wondered what humankind had done to deserve such punishment. Okay, sure, humans couldn't seem to breathe without causing trouble; there had been wars, murder, betrayal, massacres, and generally lots of blood, but surely nothing was serious enough for _this _to curse their race and very existence.

Dolores Umbridge sat at her desk with her hands set primly on her desk, her stumpy feet exactly together, her back straight, her little black hair bow sitting perfectly snug among her grey curls. Her outfit, as garishly pink as usual, was thankfully for the most part hidden by the large mahogany desk, but that didn't do much to lessen Leo's nausea.

The woman stirred some unwelcome memories in Leo's currently repulsed mind. The sheer ice behind that smiley gaze reminded him of the snow goddess Khione; the way she would also act all soft and sweet, while her true self was cold and hard as steel.

The very first thing Umbridge had said in Leo's presence that morning was an announcement that she expected this class to behave 'in a manner that befitted their age and status as wizards in the making'.

"I had to deal with a ridiculous amount of questions in my first lesson," she'd said, tutting and smoothing down her pink tweed skirt. "Let's see if we can make this one a successful one, shall we?"

Percy, of course, had opened his mouth to retort - probably to ask what her definition of 'successful' was - but Annabeth had stopped him in time. The frown on her forehead and the hard lines of her lips as she glanced at Umbridge told Leo everything he needed to know about her sympathy for her boyfriend's rebellious impulse, but, as ever, she demonstrated a control over her emotions that even Leo, the self-described machine-man, found hard to compete with.

The woman kindled such disgust and contempt inside him, he could feel his skin crawling as she straightened the cameo pendant at her neck so that it hung perfectly perpendicular to her frilly collar. It was remarkable, the rational, mechanical side of his brain reflected, how Umbridge just seemed to attract every negative feelings around her person. She was so prim and pristine, her voice so sickly sweet, she was like those carnivorous plants who looked bright, but smelled bad and reacted worse when something innocent buzzed by.

The final thing that made Leo certain of this woman's malevolence was finding himself tempted to flick ink pellets at her - something he never would have dreamed the Great Valdez would lower himself to. Far too juvenile, not to mention tacky.

No. Dolores Umbridge deserved something better. As discordant as that phrase sounded out of context, Leo couldn't help but smile darkly as he evaluated his options. Oh, he would make her pay. He wasn't even sure for what, yet. But he had no doubt she would provide them with ample reason soon enough. If Potter's story was anything to go by, provoking this woman was easy. And Leo - being Leo - could, and would, _break _her.

_Dolores. _Even her name meant 'pain', Leo thought bitterly.

Her smile was the worst. Class had started fifteen minutes ago, the very first Defence Against the Dark Arts for the sixth-year demigods, and still that smug, self-satisfied little smile had not budged a nanometre from their professor's rouged lips.

School gossip had it Harry Potter had stormed out of his first lesson - a rumour Percy had quietly confirmed for them - and at that moment Leo really could not blame him. The class was quiet, almost oppressively so, yet the disgust and boredom of the collective student body was so palpable that for a moment Leo was tempted to say the Grace siblings were up to something. Umbridge, for whatever reason, had apparently not yet sensed the disquiet among her students, even though by now only about two of them were still reading their assigned chapter. (For some reason no-one could fathom, the entire school from first year through to seventh had been issued the same textbook for this subject. The demigods weren't by any means academic experts, but even they could tell there were several things wrong with that).

Leo's hands, as usual, couldn't stay still. They fluttered around the desk, plucked at the small hairs on his arms, and every time he glanced down at the open book before him and tried to take in the information - if you could call it that - either the words wriggled around on the page or a new plan for making Umbridge's life difficult popped up, making it hard for him to concentrate.

So far, he'd decided he was going to wire her to a special little invention of his. Originally, he'd destined it to the pesky Hermes kids who'd been cheeky enough to steal stuff from Bunker Nine - yeah, it'd been for the war effort and all that, but nobody stole from Leo Valdez and got away with it without developing some mysterious symptoms for an ailment afterwards. So far, his little gadget - privately named the Valdezingitis - caused the victim to suffer purple acne, choke out a glob of bright green mucus every time they coughed (or cleared their throat, which was why Leo was so keen to use that little marvel on the permanently _hem-hem'_ing Prof. U.), develop a skin rash that _tickled _rather than itched, and occasionally caused them to forget simple life rules - like how to eat with cutlery or tie shoelaces, for example.

Leo was just debating if he should program some modifications to alter certain aspects of the symptoms (maybe make the spots green instead of purple?) when Annabeth surprised him, and everyone else, by raising her hand.

Leo, who had heard of a certain Hermione Granger doing precisely the same thing and not getting any bonus points for it, wondered if the daughter of Athena had finally cracked her pants.

Umbridge's eyes bulged in their sockets as she noticed Annabeth's hand remaining steadily in the air, accentuating her unfortunate resemblance to venomous amphibians and slimy things in general.

When it became clear that every single student's gaze was fixated on either Annabeth or their teacher, Umbridge gave a huffy little sigh and neatly pushed her chair back before tottering over to Annabeth's chair.

"What is it, dear? Is there a word you don't understand?" she whispered, though everyone heard her.

Annabeth fixed her stormy eyes on Umbridge's pouchy face with a look of such contempt, Leo felt sudden, irrational relief that he was not the one subject to it.

"No. What I don't understand is this book's approach to practical defence."

Umbridge straightened. Her face was grim, and Leo knew what was going through her mind: _Oh, let's not start this again_. However, faithful to her usual slimy self, her tone when she next spoke was as saccharine soft as usual.

"Well, Miss..?"

"Annabeth Chase."

"Miss Chase, I think the approach presented in Mr Slinkhard's approved text should be perfectly easy to understand once you have finished the chapter." Umbridge's toady eyes glanced meaningfully at Annabeth's book, which, like everyone else's, was still open at Chapter Two's introduction.

"I have finished it. And Chapter Three, Four and Five. I said I don't understand his approach because in the first quarter of his textbook, there's still nothing about practicing actual magic."

There was a little pause, during which Leo grinned at Percy. His girlfriend had _style_. Leo had to consider purchasing trademark rights. Then, Umbridge clasped her hands together and trilled her little laugh.

"_Using _magic, Miss Chase? Why, there is no need to practice dangerous spells in my classroom. Why ever should I allow it to happen?"

"Oh, I don't know," Annabeth answered, her posture superbly dignified and her tone only hinting at sarcasm. "It couldn't have anything to do with the fact that spells need practice to be perfect, could it?"

Umbridge looked at her steadily for a moment, then took a deep breath and retreated to (the safety of) her desk.

"Well, I see it's...necessary to make a few things clear." she paused and smiled at them like a scary nanny looming over her two-year-old charges. "You have been trained thus far with the extremely dangerous mentality of 'practice makes perfect'. Now, I have had some previous remarks made by students regarding this subject," her smile turned smug, "and by now they will hopefully have seen the error of their ways. This year, you will be following a closely-structured, Ministry-approved course based on theory and the fragile learning curve of wizards and witches your age."

"Our age specifically?" Percy asked, raising his hand (rumour had it raised hands were necessary to possess a voice in Umbridge's classes). "But I seem to recall the entire school being taught with the same textbook this year."

"Yes. You see, sadly Mr Jackson, the entirety of Hogwarts' student population has suffered from lack of proper teaching in Defence Against the Dark Arts and needs to return to the basics. There have been dark wizards teaching you, frauds, and-" she shuddered delicately, "- dangerous half-breeds."

Percy reddened in anger. Leo winced. Umbridge had hit too close to the spot; no doubt 'half-breed' drew un-intentioned parallels with their own status as half-bloods.

"Professor Lupin was a brilliant teacher." someone called out angrily.

"Yeah. And even Quirrell was alright 'till he got possessed by You-Know-Who." someone else joined in.

"And therein lies my point." Umbridge replied silkily. "Teachers who are hailed as great by education-starved children or who get themselves supposedly possessed by a dead dark wizard are hardly the stuff of core training."

"But at least we'd learn _spells _with them." Annabeth said. "Not just theory."

Umbridge smiled again. "But that is theory's purpose, silly girl. An alternate, risk-free way of learning magic to the benefit of all."

"To the benefit of the Ministry, you mean." Annabeth replied, her tone steely now. Her eyes glittered in a way that usually made any monster question their existence to Tartarus. "Because then we wouldn't be able to use it against them."

Umbridge sighed and smoothed down her skirt, tweaking the bows near her collar and tottering back to her seat.

"Miss Chase, you are being ridiculous. The Ministry has nothing to fear from a group of children not yet out of school. Now, if we are quite finished, perhaps we can go back to reading our chap- _yes_, Mr...?" she snapped at Jason, who'd been idly flicking through his textbook during the debate.

"Jason Grace. Professor, I was just wondering; if we read one chapter per lesson, and as Annabeth pointed out, there are twenty of them, then won't we have finished with this book by, say, mid-November?" He looked up at her, all wide-eyed and innocent. "So, correct me if I'm wrong, but we won't have anything else to study for the year."

He paused.

"Unless you make us read it again, of course."

Umbridge kept her gaze on him for a few more seconds, then brought her chair closer to her desk and, pointedly looking at her papers instead of at him, said "Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr Grace."

Thalia scoffed on her stoic brother's behalf.

"_What for?_"

"Your hand is not up, Miss-"

"Grace. Thalia Grace. I asked you, what for?" The huntress repeated, glaring at their teacher like she was mentally analysing where each arrow of her quiver would hit her and at precisely which speed. Her hand was still not in the air.

Umbridge rolled her eyes the tiniest of fractions. "For questioning a teacher's authority and decision-making in her own classroom."

"He asked a question about the _textbook_." Thalia insisted. "Since when is that punishable?"

"Since I am the one adult with authority here, and I set the rules." Umbridge replied coldly. "If you have any issues with that, I suggest you leave school altogether, Miss Grace. Each and every teacher in Hogwarts is entitled to deduct points should they so wish."

She turned to the rest of the class, who by now was either looking amused or seething with rage.

"That goes for all of you. I will not tolerate any rebellion in my class. Now, if we may please return to page twenty-five-"

Annabeth put her hand up again. Umbridge closed her eyes briefly.

"What is it now, Miss Chase?"

"Professor, just one more question, so we're all clear. Are we or are we not going to practice magic in your classes this year?"

"You will not." Umbridge answered softly. "The theory is sound, and there will be no reason for you to practice such magic in my classroom."

"Then," Annabeth said, getting up and shoving bits and pieces into her bag. "I see no reason to stay any longer." She marched out to a stunned Umbridge's desk, rummaging in her bag before retrieving a piece of paper, which she placed in front of their teacher. Umbridge looked at the paper, frozen except for her bulging eyes.

"My letter of recommendation." Annabeth informed her.

Leo sucked in a breath. The nine demigods had each received a letter of reference from Chiron that morning, effectively proving their legitimacy at Hogwarts.

"It's from Mythomagic Institute. It says here that I, and my friends, came to Hogwarts to learn magic. Practical, defensive magic. Not to learn how to read."

With that, Annabeth turned on her heel and marched out of the room, winking at Leo, Percy, Jason and Thalia on the way out.

Grinning at his friends' expressions of utter shock, Leo glanced back at Umbridge. Green, purple _and _yellow spots it was, then.

0o0o0o0o0o0

The news that Annabeth Chase had walked out of one of her core classes had, by midday, run rampant through the school. For the entire lunch hour, during which Annabeth remained unfindable, Percy had to dodge dozens of curious questions, amused requests for the story and frowns of disapproval from his girlfriend's Ravenclaw housemates. The latter had tried cornering him twice, in a matter of hours, to try and get him to talk some sense into Annabeth.

Percy, being Percy, had had to fight the urge of bringing out Riptide and pushing his way out of the fray of blue-robed students, but had instead settled to laughing and informing them that, regrettably, no-one but Annabeth herself could change her mind.

Which was not to say that he would not try.

Just after lunch, when he had a free period, Percy found Annabeth curled up in an armchair in the library. She was idly leafing through her book, and though she smiled as he approached her she did not look up. Percy knew her well enough to know this meant she was not yet fully over what had happened.

"So, um...where were you?" he asked her, careful to keep his voice down (Mrs Pince, the librarian, had ears like a fox).

"In Professor Flitwick's office, and then Dumbledore's." she said in a small voice. "I explained to them what happened, and made my case."

"And, er...what was the outcome?"

Annabeth shrugged. She still hadn't looked at him, which was starting to worry Percy. Had he done something wrong too...?

"I'm sorry." he said. "I should've followed you out of that classroom, but I-"

Annabeth shook her head quickly and put a hand on his lips, at last meeting his eyes.

"No. Don't be. It's bad enough that I defected, gods forbid you do too."

"But..."

"I made a mistake, Percy." Annabeth sighed. "I let my anger take the better of me. I was sure I was within my rights to leave, so I did. But when I spoke to Dumbledore, he made it clear this was beyond his control."

"But he's the _headmaster_-"

"And Umbridge works for the Ministry." she replied flatly. "Remember her speech that first night? I should have seen what she was doing. Hogwarts is slowly losing ground to the Ministry, Percy - or at least that what Dumbledore hinted at when I was with him. The Minister, Cornelius Fudge, seems to think our headmaster is raising an army against him."

Percy felt a little lost, but the last sentence rang a small bell in his mind.

"Oh. That's what you meant when you told Umbridge the Ministry was deliberately teaching sub-standard."

Annabeth nodded, her expression bitter.

"I tried proving that I wasn't required to take Defence, not with a teacher like Umbridge. I showed them the school report Chiron sent us, I showed them the reference letter - yes, I made copies -... I even offered to demonstrate what I could do."

"That was a risky bluff."

Annabeth shrugged. "Not really. If they'd asked me to show them some spells it would've meant I'd already won. But it didn't work anyway. I'm expected to turn up at my next lesson as though nothing's happened. Dumbledore can't do anything about it, or he'll forfeit the limited power he has left."

Percy sat down next to her and put his arm around her shoulders.

"Umbridge... She won't let you off the hook, you know."

For the first time in the conversation, Annabeth gave him a genuine smile.

"That's the one piece of good news. Dumbledore guaranteed me that I wouldn't get detention or deducted points because, as he'll say to Umbridge, I was worried about the standard of our education, not the course or, Elysium forbid," she grimaced, "our teacher's ability."

Percy sighed in relief. Well, at least no real harm had been done. Worst-case scenario, Annabeth would suffer a little humiliation.

"Best-case scenario," he said out loud with a smile, "Umbridge is humiliated in her first week at Hogwarts, you make a point, and all the other students look up to you as their role model."

"Role model? Hardly." she muttered. "D'you know how _embarrassing _this is for a daughter of Athena, Percy? To walk out of a place where knowledge could potentially be gained?"

He chuckled.

"Can't say that I do. I personally call what happened this morning 'badass'."

Annabeth poked him in the ribs, then laughed and sprang to her feet.

"Well, it's a good thing you're here, Percy Jackson, because I'm gonna need help for some research."

Percy's heart sank. Research? He'd rather fight a hydra. Libraries weren't much better than those vicious multi-serpent monsters, in a way: every time you finished with one book, there were a dozen more waiting to be read, tidied and bookmarked, until one no longer knew where to look for escape.

"I will bring Umbridge's course down around her ears if I have to steal books from Olympus itself." Annabeth announced grimly. "Which is why we'll use the good old trick of using the law against those who abuse it. You, meanwhile, can start finding out information about the learning curve of wizards."

Percy groaned. Sure, a hydra. Or a giant. Whichever, as long as it didn't spout complicated language and calligraphic writing.

0o0o0o0o0o0

Piper leaned back into her boyfriend's arms, letting her head fall back on his shoulder. His arm tightened around her, and she tried to forget how discouraged and out of her depth she felt.

They were sitting in front of the fire in their private common room, about an hour after dinner on Thursday evening. Piper knew they were supposed to be making friends in their own houses, but she really could not be bothered to socialize with the bunch of jerks her house seemed to consist of. So far in the past four days, her only interaction with them had been a squeaked "Sorry!" when she'd bumped into a Slytherin sixth-year girl in the corridor the day before, and having to fight down a blush when several Slytherin seventh-years wolf-whistled as she left the Great Hall after lunch.

Their first week was nearly over, and Piper was exhausted. She'd been to plenty of different schools, each more snobby and uncomfortable than the next, but Hogwarts was different. The huge old castle was just so overwhelmingly complex and the schoolwork so intense that she felt almost incapable just keeping up with it all. It didn't help that they were completely out of their usual environment either: habits and customs here were so familiar and yet strange that half the time she found herself thinking twice before doing or saying something, not least because every hour of the day she had to be acutely aware that she could potentially be the one to attract suspicion on their group.

That said, Hogwarts was the first school where she actually felt welcome, and that in itself was one of the reasons she was feeling so down: the professors were, so far, quite kind and fair-minded; it felt _wrong _to constantly lie to them. That very day, Piper had lost count of the number of times she'd opened her mouth only to pour out fibs and excuses for her poor performance in class.

The truth was, magic was far from easy. She was embarrassed to admit it, even to herself, but prior to their first day of classes she'd just assumed they would pick up magic as they went along, or at the very worst they could use their demigod powers to cover up their mistakes. Trouble was, magic was just so much more _complex _than she'd first thought. Theory patterns, wand movements, incantations in advanced Latin, specific intonations that affected the strength of the spell... Her head swam just thinking about it all. And the other students made it seem so _easy_. Slytherin sixth-years had Charms with the Ravenclaws, and earlier that morning, before the disastrous Defence class Piper had regrettably not witnessed, the two girls in front of Piper and Annabeth had pulled off the Strengthening Charm on their third go. Within ten minutes, both their sets of torn cloth strips had become rock-solid ladders, while the two demigod girls behind them could barely manage to untangle them from one another.

Piper knew for a fact that Annabeth was taking this sudden academic challenge particularly hard. Her friend, she knew, was used to pulling off excellent grades - something that seemed tremendously ambitious if not completely out of reach here, given the sheer alien-ness of their curriculum. Piper had left that lesson - the last one of the day, thanks to her free periods - feeling drained and discouraged, though to her irritation Annabeth was more pumped-up than ever. It seemed the challenge of difficulty was irresistible to the daughter of Athena: she later heard Annabeth spent the rest of the day in the library, leaving Piper to find her way back to their common room and hope someone else was there to keep her company.

Leo, Hazel and Frank had come back soon after her, muttering about mountains of homework, but had immediately set to doing a kind of work that was specific to the nine of them, and only within the confinements of their private common room. Since Percy had worriedly shared with them the conversation he'd had with Harry Potter and Professor McGonagall, her very strange behaviour afterwards and his inevitable conclusion that _she knew something_, they had doubled their efforts in discretion and reinforced any possible means of privacy they had. For Leo, this led to the adoption of a twice-daily routine of inspecting every inch of their common room and dormitories (Annabeth scoured the girls' one) in search of spying devices someone could have planted in their absence.

Piper wasn't herself sure McGonagall and Dumbledore were threats, exactly. Sure, it seemed likely the old genius knew something was up with their group, but he had done precisely nothing (that they could find) to act on his suspicions. As for McGonagall...well, she seemed to be choosing the option of trusting Percy with information that was clearly delicate. In Piper's mind, there was definitely something fishy going on with the Transfiguration teacher too, perhaps more so than with Dumbledore.

The idea of regularly checking for spyware had been bounced around the day of their arrival, but whereas it had been laughed off as simply paranoid when Annabeth suggested it then, it now was seen as a matter of necessity. Annabeth still did not trust Albus Dumbledore and made her suspicions of him clear, which Piper respected but didn't entirely understand. However, as Nico had pointed out, Dumbledore and McGonagall were not necessarily the only ones to suspect them, and therefore perhaps not the ones _most _likely to spy on them. Flitwick, Nico stated as an example, was just as likely to keep an eye on them if he was right in thinking the professor suspected him of dark magic, after that little trick with the dead mice.

In any case, they were better off safe than sorry. Using his supersensory abilities to detect anything remotely mechanic about the room, Leo methodically ran his hands across the stone walls, the bedposts, the inside of the fireplace and underneath the furniture. Of course, they all knew by now that magic seldom had anything to do with mechanics, but thankfully Leo said he could just as well sense magical contraptions as mechanical ones. There was very little difference between the two, he explained, because the most elaborate ones in their world, like Festus and Archimedes' spheres, functioned thanks to magic as well. There was no way normal science could make Daedalus' laptop shrink or expand at will, or make Festus develop actual taste-buds and a preference for Tabasco sauce if it weren't for a little magical influence.

As for Annabeth, she had preferred to revise and establish a few new rules. She didn't call them that, but every demigod in the vicinity knew them to _be _rules. They were now _extremely _discouraged of using their demigod powers anywhere that came even close to being public; conversations were kept to a strict banality when mortals were within earshot; they were to deflect any questions that were deemed too probing and immediately report them and their inquisitors to the others; any monster threats had to be dealt with quickly and as discreetly as possible.

The lattermost was thought by all of them to be the hardest to stick to: usually when they fought monsters the Mist was powerful enough to cover for them, but in an area so saturated with magic and illusion it was unlikely at best that wizards would stay oblivious if a Minotaur were to attack, or if something huge and slimy suddenly burst out of the forest, especially if any damage was done in their attempts to kill them.

All in all, it had been an eventful week to say the least, and Piper barely had enough energy to squeeze back Jason's hand when he held hers. Still, Leo had finished his rounds and he had followed in Hazel and Frank's footsteps to wash and change, so for the moment it was just her and Jason, which she was glad about. Camp was bad enough in that aspect, but at boarding schools it was nigh on impossible to get much privacy.

Jason had pulled out his wand from his sleeve and was swishing it around, muttering things in Latin she couldn't quite catch. She considered joining him and practicing Strengthening Charms for the next day, but her wand was lying on the coffee table four feet away, just out of her reach, and she really didn't want to leave his warm arms just yet.

"How long d'you think it'll be before we're good at magic too?" she asked Jason quietly.

"Dunno. Maybe never. It isn't natural for us, after all." Jason replied with a sigh, tucking his wand away.

"I wish it weren't so hard." Piper murmured.

"Aw, where would be the fun in learning it, then?"

"I just... wish we could do something that's easy, for a change." she said.

Jason scratched his head. "Well... I dunno about you, Pipes, but it seems to me we've had it pretty easy so far. I mean, usually by this time on a quest we've met - what? at least a dozen monsters? And getting inside the school was fairly easy. Talking as opposed to sword-fighting? I know which option I'd choose any day."

Piper considered that for a bit. In comparison to flying around on a dodgy metal dragon, escaping Cyclopes and nearly drowning in non-aquatic water, it was true that Hogwarts seemed more like a holiday in a spa resort than a school, albeit with extra paperwork involved. Maybe she'd just lost the habit of studying for new subjects.

"I suppose," she sighed. "It's just... I feel kinda trapped here, you know? On a quest we're always on the move, not staying anywhere too long because monsters might be tracking us down. Well, here we'll be staying put for _months_. What if monsters come and find us here? Percy found those Asrai nymphs his first day; there are _bound _to be monsters close by as well. And we won't be able to put any distance between us."

"I think we all know the answer to that, Piper." Jason said quietly. "As usual, it'll only be a matter of time before something notices us, and, as usual, we'll have to fight it. And then it'll happen again, and again. Maybe not as much as on a quest, because Hogwarts' boundaries can probably hold the worst off, but we'll have to face the consequences of who we are soon."

Piper plucked at the fabric of the sofa they were lounging on, wondering if the resigned edge to her boyfriend's voice had always been there, or if it had appeared only recently. Jason had always been graver than most teenagers. More mature, and more serious in many aspects. But the words he was saying now sounded like they came from someone much older than her sixteen-year-old boyfriend.

"Don't you think it's strange how our lives are actually quite predictable?" she wondered aloud. "When I learned I was a demigod, Chiron warned me that my life would be dangerous and unpredictable, that I would never know if I'd live to see another month. But actually, you can always say that a demigod's life will be full of danger, that at some point they'll have to face the fact that they're not entirely human, and that they'll most likely die young."

Jason's mouth stretched into a half-smile. "I wouldn't say our lives are _predictable_ as such. Maybe full of likely occurrences, but then so are ninety-nine percent of other people's. If we were ordinary humans, we'd most likely grow up with our families, go to one or two schools, go to college, get a job, get married, have kids, then die when we reach old age. When you look at it that way, everyone's life is predictable. Doesn't mean we don't get to choose what happens in them, even if we do seem forced to meet a couple of monsters every now and then."

"Mm. I guess."

"Why the sudden gloomy outlook, anyway?"

Piper hesitated, unsure she wanted to tell Jason that she was losing her confidence for this mission. Her heart felt burdened already, as much by the constant lying and the dangers that comprised as by her own sense of failure around anything that had to do with magic. Fortunately, she was saved the trouble of skirting around the truth by the entrance of Thalia.

The huntress stormed into the common room and collapsed on the chair nearest to the fireplace, tilting her head back and rubbing her temples. Her eyes were closed, and a tight frown furrowed her brow, as though she had a severe headache.

"Hey, sis. What's kicking?"

"That freakin' storm." she muttered. "I maintained it for two hours the other day, and it's given me a headache I can't shake off."

Jason swore and sat upright, sending Piper sprawling across the sofa while she laughed.

"Why'd you keep it going for so long? The storm was gonna happen anyway." Jason asked, concerned. "The air was so heavy it was bound to strike before the next morning."

"What's this about a storm?" Piper asked, amused but with no idea what they were talking about.

"We decided to prove to our Divination class that Trelawney's prophecies are about as reliable as Hermes on marijuana."

"She predicted that the weather tonight would provide perfect conditions for stargazing, so naturally Percy decided to wreck her and Professor Sinistra's plans and whip up a storm."

"So when all Astronomy lessons were cancelled for the week, that was your work?" Piper asked, amused.

Jason and Thalia glanced at each other and shrugged. "Sort of," the huntress answered. "We just triggered it. I sustained it for a while, like I've said, but it didn't really need encouragement."

"Stop it, Thal. You're exhausting yourself." Jason insisted.

Thalia shrugged like it was no big deal, but her face was even paler than usual and her eyes were closed again.

"What do you mean?" Piper asked Jason quietly. "The storm's been over for over a day. How can she still be exhausting herself?"

Jason sat back down and rubbed his hands together, staring into the fire. Piper could hear the wind howling outside, and even though the windows on the walls were fake and enchanted to reflect the weather (they were at the heart of the third floor) she could see it was still raining hard, even if the thunder and lightning had ceased long ago.

"Being a child of Jupiter - or Zeus - isn't like being a son of Poseidon or Hades." Jason started saying, still staring at the flames in the fireplace. "Percy can switch off his maritime sense when he's away from the ocean, and Nico can concentrate on the living when he wants to forget about the dead, but when you're a child of the celestial god you're constantly aware of the sky. Whatever pressure you feel in the air just before a storm, to us it's like someone's feeding us concentrated sugar, and when a storm breaks out it's like a rush of adrenaline. If you harness the power of a storm, you can control it, but it can also control you. It's like trying to tame a a pet that's gone wild: it could submit and return to obeying you, but it could just as easily snap and consume you entirely. When you _can _control it," he sighed and gestured towards his sister, sprawled on the sofa, "it's hard to let it go completely, and it leaves you drained, sometimes for days."

"I'd no idea it was so dangerous." Piper murmured. "So all this time...when you've been summoning storms..."

Jason gave a small shrug, but was saved from having to answer when Leo, Frank and Hazel came back to join them. Together they decided to pull out various assignments they had been given in the past four days and tried to complete them. Piper couldn't believe that on the very first week of term the students would be given this much work. She and her fellow sixth-years had already been assigned two essays in Charms and Transfiguration, a detailed analysis of the ingredients that made up a Reminding Cordial, and additional spell practice for Flitwick and McGonagall. Frank, Nico and Hazel had a dream diary to start and an essay in Muggle Studies, as well as three different spells to practice so far.

They pulled out their textbooks (the suitcases they had found near their beds on the morning of their first day had been a literal godsend) and tried to extract enough information to write their answers. Needless to say, it was extremely difficult. First of all, the question itself was obscurely worded (_Explain and evaluate, using examples and as precisely as you can, the importance of articulation in the efficiency of spells_), then the textbook proved nearly impossible to read without resorting to Frank's kind assistance - and even he struggled with occasionally indecipherable wizarding names. And if that wasn't enough, there was the more general problem that none of them knew anything about magic - be it spells, famous scholars, plants, theory or wand movements - period.

Jason had valiantly written the question down and drafted a lopsided plan for his answer, but Piper was banging her head repeatedly on the pages of the book, wondering if stamping it on her forehead could feasibly be an alternate way of inserting the information into her mind, while Thalia gave up after half an hour and went back to closing her eyes and rubbing her temples, claiming a migraine.

At least Hazel and Frank were making some progress. The subject of Muggle Studies, it turned out, was little more than a joke. Wizarding knowledge of muggle technology seemed to gravitate around the nineteen fifties, and in terms of habit seemed to think Muggles spent their time researching mass-murder weapons or inventing coffee recipes. Within twenty minutes, Hazel's Muggle Studies textbook lay discarded and untouched on a corner of the table, and both her and Frank's essays were nearing completion. The expected perspective in the essay was so archaic that even Hazel could relate to it without much difficulty, and when Nico entered the room ten minutes later, it was to find the both of them debating whether they should include some of their demigod dreams in their dream diaries.

"Imagine the extra credit we'd get if Trelawney witnessed some of them come true." Frank gloated, grinning.

"Dumbledore would offer you her job on the spot." Thalia said, sounding perfectly serious.

"Yup. On a golden platter with a purple ribbon." Jason agreed.

"Don't let Annabeth catch you at this." Nico warned his sister. "She'll go spare if anyone so much as _hints _at our supernatural abilities."

"But they're dreams." Hazel insisted. "Most night visions we get aren't even prophetic, they just give us a glimpse of what's happening elsewhere."

"Exactly. If they're not prophetic, there's no point including them in Divination diaries."

Hazel puffed, while Frank chuckled.

"I just think we'd get more points. We're so behind as it is-"

Nico hushed her and held up a hand to request silence, tipping his head to one side, listening hard. After two seconds of confused silence, he straightened and smiled slightly.

"Speak of the devil, Annabeth's on her way here."

"How'd you know?"

Nico smirked, and Piper wasn't sure she'd like what he was about to say.

"I, er - may have been making friends with other ghosts around here. They let me know when they see anything."

"What?" Piper gasped. "Are you... Are you sure that's a good idea?"

Nico shrugged. "Where's the problem? I control them: they couldn't tell anyone if they tried, and we need eyes and ears around here."

Piper hesitated. The memory of Percy and Annabeth's angry reactions following Nico's display in front of Myrtle was still fresh in her mind, and she wasn't quite sure how to react now.

As though he were reading her mind, Nico rolled his eyes. "Don't worry, I didn't use the sword again. I asked them, politely, if they could let me know when they saw certain things."

"What kind of things?" Thalia asked suspiciously.

Nico shrugged again. "Not much. Just updates on all your whereabouts so it's easier to find you if we run into any trouble, and warnings if any teachers are coming our way, just in case we're doing anything...unwizardly."

Piper leaned back into Jason's arms.

"Huh." she said, impressed. "That's actually- That's really..."

"...professional." Jason completed for her, similarly awed.

"Really cool." Leo added, grinning from ear to ear. "Aw guys, we're like, Spy Kids or something! Or... No, no, no, the kids from The Incredibles! We totally kick ass, I'm telling you!"

"But I wouldn't tell these guys too much, Nico." Frank ventured, his brow creasing into a worried frown. "I know they're under your control and all, but the less they know, the better."

The others nodded in agreement, and Nico gestured his assent.

Just at that moment, the door opened and Annabeth stumbled in, followed by Percy, the former loaded with a huge bag stuffed with books and a good dozen more balanced in the latter's arms. Annabeth's cheeks were flushed with exertion and she was panting heavily, but she was grinning and her eyes sparkled so brightly no-one could ever doubt she a daughter of the bright-eyed goddess.

"Okay, I've done some research-"

"_We've _done some research." Percy corrected her, his voice muffled and sounding not exactly thrilled at having his vision obstructed by a huge pile of books in his arms. "Some of these are for our homework, by the way-" he dropped the books in his arms and they landed with an almighty crash on the table, sending parchment flying everywhere, "-and remind me _never _to go to the library with you when you're on a roll."

"- and you'll never _believe _what I've found out!" Annabeth continued, oblivious.

"- it's _torture_. D'you know how many books I've had to take out, carry, put back, _read_?" Percy shuddered. "And that librarian woman is scary. I wouldn't be surprised if her name was Alecto."

Annabeth ignored him. She was so excited Piper wondered if going to the library, despite personal prejudices and general perception, would be worth it after all. She could do with a buzz like that.

"Well actually, it's more of a theory than a hard fact, but it's still-" she shook her head and held out her hands. "Urgh, I'm doing this wrong. Okay, you know how we're really behind in magic and it's ridiculously hard for us to do just one spell?"

The others nodded. Oh yes, they were aware.

"Well, I looked up some beginners' texts, to see if first-year wizards find it as hard as we do. It turns out, they do! Young children do accidental magic since they're born, pretty much, so it's really hard for them to be able to harness it and use it properly with wands and everything."

"Er... Where is this going?" Leo asked, completely thrown.

"Just a sec, I'm getting there. So, I did some more research and looked up some statistics, from the Department of Magical Growth and Learning for Young Wizards. I found out that magic can _only be learned from a relatively young age_, like, er..." she faltered, looking for an example, then snapped her fingers triumphantly. "Like speech! Children can only learn to speak when they're infants, any later than five years old and they lose they ability to develop speech for ever."

Piper paled, exchanging panicky looks with the others.

"What? But...hang on, you're saying it's too late for us to learn magic?"

"But that's so unfair! I want to learn how to make lightsabers!" Leo whined.

A smile stretched Annabeth's lips, and it was one Piper was used to seeing. It was a mixture of _Haven't you figured it out yet?_ and _I know something you don't_.

"Actually, I'm fairly certain it means the opposite." she said.

"What?" It was Jason's turn to be confused. "But you just said-"

"Think about it. Yes, it's true magic can only be learned early on, but by all rights that should mean we can't produce the faintest _glimmer _of...whatever! But we know for a fact that's not true: Piper and I managed to do _something _to the ropes in Charms today; I managed to get some sort of reaction from my wand my first night here; and Percy also produced some woodlice in his first lesson-"

"Jason, Thalia and I made some woodlice that day too," Piper joined in, unsure where this was going but starting to see some light at the end of the tunnel. "Well, not real ones, but it was still using magic."

"Exactly. I read up more stuff in the library, and according to the people who work in that department, children lose their ability to learn magic properly by the time they reach puberty - which I'd say we've definitely entered by now. Something about hormone increases disrupting the balance between magic and nature when the magic hadn't been sufficiently tamed - closest thing to science I've seen since we got here." she waved her hand around impatiently. "_Anyway_, that's how the Squib population stayed so high in the Middle Ages."

"Er... Squib?" Leo asked weakly.

"People who were born in magical families but who can't use magic of their own. Historically, wizarding families were so hunted down and isolated that it was almost impossible for schools to keep track of them and persuade parents to let their children be taken away to learn magic. Nowadays Squibs are quite rare because everything is so regulated, but there are still cases of it happening, either due to natural selection or because someone missed the opportunity of education. Where is it? I had it here somewhere..."

Annabeth started rummaging in her bag, and a few seconds later pulled out a sheet of parchment that was recognisably a page torn from a book.

"This is Miss Buniq Iyaroak's témoignage given in nineteen eighty six, I found it in the same book - I hope Miss Pince won't notice it missing -" she cleared her throat and read out, "_I was born in the Russian Tundra. My father was a shaman, my mother a wise woman, while I was born a witch. I remember my magic bursting out of me at odd moments, when I was scared, or angry. I could make ice crack when I wanted it to, and fish would leap out of the water to land in my lap instead of biting at the bait. My parents knew I had magic, but decided to keep me away from schools where I could learn to use my powers. Both of them had gone to Durmstrang _[That's another wizarding school in Europe]_ long enough to learn the basics. They never finished their education there and kept me away because, they said, schools were full of opinions that would influence the pure way our people saw the world. I grew into adulthood without too much incident, and my powers left me for good by the time I reached majority, though I had noticed them fading since I was twelve."_

"That's...really sad." Piper said, frowning. "Those people had no _right _to keep their daughter from having an education!"

"Different time, different place." Annabeth said, putting the sheet of paper back down on the desk.

"But...how is that good for us?" Jason asked, still confused.

Annabeth looked around, her eyes still sparkling, but her expression turning increasingly disbelieving at her friends' incomprehension.

"Don't you see? By all the laws of nature and wizardry, we shouldn't be able to do the slightest bit of magic! We shouldn't be able to conjure woodlice, or strengthen rope, or even make potions. But we _can_. Now what does that suggest?"

"That being a demigod exempts us from some magical laws?" Jason suggested.

"That our magic is only channelling our existing powers?" Hazel offered.

"That we're butt-kicking, super-talented, awesome demigod wizards?" Leo hazarded.

Annabeth snapped her fingers and pointed at Leo. "Bingo." she said, grinning. "I think we're only capable of doing magic at our age because our parents have something to do with it. Think about it: Hecate blessed us with magical powers herself - she must have known we wouldn't be able to do much if we only had regular magic, so she gave us extra power and ability as a kind of boost."

"You're saying the gods are responsible for whatever magic we can do?" Frank clarified, frowning slightly.

Piper glanced at him and immediately knew what was bothering him. It was hard being a demigod. Part of the hardship was never really fitting anywhere except Camp Half-Blood or Camp Jupiter, but the biggest part was the constant doubt that accompanied their every waking moment as they grew up, ignorant of their godly status, and sometimes even after they had been made aware of who they were. Were they doing the right thing? Would the gods smite them if they accidentally did something wrong? Why could they never do anything right, like staying in the same schools, making normal friends, keeping their homes un-blown-up and monster-free?

Whatever they _did _manage to do right was, in a way, one of the most precious things a demigod had. A feat of glory, an act of heroism, a special friendship; those were the things a demigod could say they had done well and on their own. And magic, Piper guessed, was something her friends had viewed as a result of their own talent and hard work - and rightly so, she thought. Yet now, apparently, their efforts and rare successes with this new form of power were revealed to be due to divine intervention and not ability.

"Well, at least the gods are doing something to help, for a change." Piper ventured. "Usually we have to find solutions for ourselves."

"And it's not like they're doing everything for us." Hazel joined in. "Those spells we did today were _hard_. Personally, I think anything we manage to do is because we work for it, Frank, not because we were given the extra ability." She smiled at her boyfriend and nudged his side. Frank blushed but looked pleased nonetheless.

"But don't you guys realise what all this could _mean_?" Annabeth pressed on, as though finally the exciting bit had been reached, while Percy tried not to yawn. "Never mind what we can do _now_, what matters is how quickly we make progress. Look-" she selected a book from the messy heap on the coffee table, "- this book examines why first-years find it so hard to produce magic. Eleven-year-olds can barely transform a match into a needle when they start magic for the first time, and that's just Elemental Modification. Conjuration is so hard most adult wizards have trouble with it, and that's why students only start studying it in fifth or sixth year. If Percy and you three-" she pointed at Thalia, Jason and Piper, "- could conjure woodlice in your first lesson, then imagine what we could do in just a few weeks of practice!"

She finished, looking around excitedly for reactions, but judging by her friends' doubtful expressions, Piper didn't think everyone was on the same genius wavelength as her friend.

"I don't know." Thalia mused, planting her chin on her closed fist, staring thoughtfully into the fire. "Just because the gods gave us a boost doesn't mean it's gonna last long."

"Yeah, remember when Zeus literally slapped us halfway across the world?" Jason asked, to general nods and snorts of laughter. "Now _that _was a boost, but it only helped us get there quickly, not with the battle bit."

Annabeth crossed her arms and hesitated before speaking again, like she was biting her cheek and carefully thinking through what she was going to say.

"Okay, let's test it." she decided firmly. "Everyone, pull out your wands. We're gonna do the spell Thalia, Jason and Piper did the other day to conjure woodlice. We'll see who can do it now and who can't, and then we'll try tomorrow morning and check again."

"But... We're fifth-years!" Frank spluttered in protest. "How can we do the same spells as you?"

Annabeth shrugged. "Doesn't matter. The gods gave us all the same powers, they can't afford favouritism."

"It isn't a fair test." Thalia objected, her eyes narrowing. "We've already had practice."

"I have a feeling magic can be pretty abstract," Annabeth said. "I don't think we need to be able to measure results too precisely to get an idea of what we can do."

Piper and the others exchanged doubtful looks, but everyone knew that once Annabeth had something in mind, not even Cerberus with doggie treats dangling over his head could pull it away from her.

"So, talk us through it. What do you have to do?" Annabeth asked Thalia, determination in her eyes.

Thalia looked ready to roll her eyes, but she sighed sharply and told them more or less exactly what McGonagall had taught them about willpower and concentration. Annabeth listened keenly, and when Thalia recounted Percy's success with the spell, an exploit due to the channelling of his demigod affinity with the sea, she nodded like the huntress was confirming her theory.

Closing her eyes and muttering the incantation a few times under her breath, Annabeth pointed her wand at the coffee table, her features tightening in intense concentration, and enunciated the spell clearly. When a few seconds passed and nothing happened, Piper didn't really know how react: should she laugh it off and console her friend that the theory had been too far-fetched anyway? The sympathetic side of her told her to pull out her own wand and help Annabeth prove this whimsical hypothesis was true, but her rational side was interfering, and it insisted that such a huge loophole in the way of things could not exist. The odds were never in favour of demigods, so why should they be now?

She was about to gently suggest as much when Annabeth took a deep breath, pulled her arm high above her head and brought it back down in a wide arch, speaking the incantation again in a voice that was stronger, clearer, more confident. Her eyes flashed unnaturally silver, her features turned commanding, and behind it her wand left a trail of silver sparks. Piper noticed there was also the fragrance of fresh rain in the air. She had never met Athena, but in that moment she had a pretty good idea what she looked like, if her most talented daughter was anything to go by.

Annabeth opened her eyes, and everyone's gaze fell to the middle of the coffee table, where a single, fat, wriggly woodlouse was trying to right itself up. Annabeth let out a pleased sound of triumph, while the others stared dumbly on.

"Wow." muttered Thalia.

"How'd you do that?" Frank asked in awe. "I've been trying all day to do the spells we did in class, but I didn't manage anything that quickly."

"I think...I think it works better when we anchor the spell on our demigod specialities." Annabeth said, rubbing the back of her neck. "It's hard to explain, but it's like... You have to remember who you are, and who your godly parent is. What do they stand for? What makes them strong? What makes _you _strong? Percy used the sea as a source," she nodded at her boyfriend, " and I used my mother's wisdom and love of learning."

Leo pulled a face. "So if I imagine myself bursting into flame, it's gonna make the spell work?"

Annabeth shook her head, frowning thoughtfully. "It's more complicated than that. You have to keep in mind this isn't typical magic. It's magic bestowed upon us by the goddess of magic herself, and mixed in with demigod powers. It's not going to work just by _willing _it to happen, like our demigod powers do. Magic here is a science, there's a theory we have to learn and a certain mental state we have to enter."

Nico groaned. "Please tell me there's a shortcut."

Annabeth smiled faintly. "Exactly; there might be. This is about finding out."

One by one, the demigods pulled out their wands and tried their own luck at the spell, even those who had already performed it earlier in the day. Out of all of them, only Annabeth, Jason, Percy, Thalia and Piper produced satisfactory results. After much furious concentration, Leo did manage to produce several little beads of his own, but they ignited on the spot as they bounced off the table, and the ones Hazel produced seemed to be made of lead instead of chitin. Nico succeeded several times in conjuring a small fountain of woodlice, to general awe, but the problem seemed to be in their livelihood: the ones that fell out of thin air from his wand were dead, and nothing he did seemed to produce live ones. Only Frank encountered real difficulty with the spell, concentrating so hard his ears went red and the vein on his temple threatened to pop. For the fifth time, he pointed his wand at the table, his hand shaking with the intensity of the effort.

"Don't hold your breath." Hazel told him gently. "Try and relax, breathe deeply."

"It's...not..._working_." Frank grunted.

"You're forcing it. Loosen your grip - there you go - and don't stiffen your entire body. Imaging you're about to fight something, you need a supple battle stance."

Frank looked embarrassed and awkward, but when nobody commented and he saw Hazel's encouraging smile, he heaved out a long breath and relaxed into a position Piper recognised as a standard stance of anticipation. He pointed his wand at the coffee table and once more adopted an air of intense concentration. Piper wondered what was going through his mind. Would he be thinking of Mars, his father, to channel his magic? She knew Frank wasn't on the best terms with his father (but then, who was?) so she had a hard time imagining how anchoring his strength on warfare and bloodlust could possibly help him do the spell. Maybe he thought of his mother. Emily Zhang was no goddess, but she had been a soldier, admired and loved by all, and especially by her son.

At last, just when Frank was starting to turn the same shade as Umbridge's tweed handbag and Piper was losing hope of him succeeding, the end of his wand burst out dull red sparks, and three wriggling shapes dropped to the table, immediately scuttling off it and disappearing from sight.

Frank let out a sigh of relief while Hazel kissed him on the cheek, laughing as he grinned. Leo and Jason slapped him on the back, and even Nico looked pleased. Annabeth crossed her arms smugly.

"I think we've just successfully proved how fast we can learn thanks to a divine boost." she declared. "I suggest we start again tomorrow, see if we get more immediate results, and maybe perfect the spell. But overall..."

"We rock." Leo finished, grinning.

0o0o0o0o0o0

"_...and now the European weather forecast for the next few days. Ted, why do we need this again?"_

"_Well, Chuck, a lot of our people are still on the continent enjoying their vacation. It's only fair to warn them if the British excuse for weather decides to play up-"_

Reyna took a sip of her soda and reached for the remote to turn off her television. Who cared about what the sky looked like halfway across the world? Only Aeolus, and maybe Jupiter. She found the remote and pointed it at the screen, only to notice something strange on the weather graphics the presenter was showing. She frowned.

"-_an astonishingly violent storm in the past couple of days here, in Scotland, with winds far stronger than anticipated. And mind you, Britain at the moment is _hot _\- the hottest week in about a century. The storm seems to be quite small and localized - surprisingly so, in fact - but defies every prediction made about it. Lashing rain for the past four days, lightning and thunder like Odin meant business. Take care, Americans, looks like a few flights are gonna be cancelled because of this baby-"_

Reyna paused the image and studied the mass of swirling clouds over the northern part of the British Isles. It really was quite small, and there were very few cloud gatherings anywhere else in the country, which made the storm stand out on the map like a Cyclops' eye in the middle of a green and blue face.

Reyna wondered if Jupiter had anything to do with it. As a demigod, she knew of course that the gods could pop up anywhere at any time (like daisies, she thought, only nowhere near as innocent). But she'd always wondered if the gods could truly _control _every single little occurrence in their specialized area. Was Mars behind every violent conflict in history? Was Neptune aware of every single undercurrent and their impact on marine migration?

And then, was Jupiter aware of every bout of strong weather in the world? Especially one in a continent that was halfway around the world, in a country that proved too much bother to conquer even for the Romans.

This particular storm struck her as odd: mortals were usually quite good at predicting storms, hurricanes and the like, especially in areas where they were common. She wondered if Jason knew about it. She'd been trying to contact him for the past two days, but for some reason her calls never went through. He simply wasn't there. She'd Iris-messaged Camp Half-Blood to talk to her friends, but a harried-looking Chiron told her that they had gone, they were off to school for the year. That had surprised her. Annabeth, she knew, now liked living with her father, and Percy with his mother, but the others mostly lived at the camp. And Hazel and Frank were due back at Camp Jupiter soon anyway. When she'd inquired to Chiron about it, he just looked uncomfortable and told her he couldn't provide her with much more information; he'd last spoken to them on the day they left.

His slightly off behaviour did not go unnoticed by Reyna, who as a seasoned warrior could easily spot someone under pressure, but Aurum and Argentum did not show any sign that he was lying. He looked so stressed and unhappy, she figured the ecstasy that followed Gaea's defeat had finally worn off, and that the serious reparations Camp Half-Blood was undergoing were starting to take their toll.

Reyna herself was rarely the one to initiate contact; loath as she was to admit it, things were still slightly awkward between her and Jason. Usually, he was the one who called Camp Jupiter every two or three days to see how New Rome was recovering. No doubt as former praetor he still felt responsible for overlooking matters. But now it had been nearly a week since she'd last spoken with him, and still there was no word from the others. Frank and Hazel hadn't returned either.

As Reyna released the 'pause' button and the forecast moved to France, Spain and the Mediterranean, she started wondering if something fishy was going on. Her suspicious military mind began to put the pieces together into something she couldn't quite make out. Jason's abrupt silence, the sudden disappearance of her friends, Chiron's reticence to tell her much about it, an unexpectedly violent storm on one of the hottest days in Britain for a century... And Reyna knew of not one, not two, but _three _fellow demigods who could provoke such weather. It all seemed to point to one thing: a quest. And one of such significance and secrecy that Chiron had been unable to tell her, the leader of the Twelfth Legion, anything about it.

It was all very mysterious. Reyna knew the two camps had very different ways of sending their demigods off on quests; the Romans relied on formalities and auguries, whereas the Greeks tended to go "_Here's your sword. Oh, and a prophecy. Off you pop._" But there was never usually any need to wrap the whole thing in secrecy.

Could it be possible Jason and all his friends were in Europe, away on a quest so secret not even their allies could know about it?

Rubbing her forehead and wishing she wasn't quite so good at detecting odd things, Reyna turned off her TV set and grabbed a couple of drachma. She had some calls to make.

* * *

**UPDATE: The chapter's title, _Audemus Jura Nostra Defendere_, means 'we dare to defend our rights'.**


	9. Hic Sunt Monstra

**Chapter 9 - Hic Sunt Monstra**

**A/N:**** Hello! **

**I've decided I won't be responding to reviews and the like on chapters any more, 'cause it clutters up the page and it can get really boring for those who don't like that kind of thing.**

**If I haven't sent a response to your feedback and you'd like one, I'm very sorry I haven't done so, and I will if you point it out.**

**But seriously, guys, thanks. I don't deserve all that praise, let alone the loyalty of so many fantastic readers. Yes, Seaweed Princess Of The Fandom, I'm looking at you.**

**Here you go, then.**

* * *

_Describe, as fully as you can, the effects of powdered moonstone in the Wolfsbane potion. How different and/or preferable is it to the use of aconite?_

Nico tapped the end of his quill against the blank parchment in front of him and sighed, blowing out air through puffed cheeks.

What was the point in this? When was an anti-werewolf potion going to help them out anyway? The very thought of Lycaon and his vicious followers was enough to turn Nico's stomach. He remembered the stench of rank meat that followed the wolves at every step they took; their rancid breath, hot and heavy; their emaciated, hungry faces pierced by eyes as glowing as the silver orb that was the trigger to their curse. The thought that a potion had been invented by wizards to, as it were, _tame _the wolf during the transformation was probably supposed to be reassuring, but Nico had seen lycanthropes in full action when it was nowhere near the full moon. Aconite, Wolfsbane and moonstone be damned, werewolves weren't going to be sedated with a few mouthfuls of magical fluid.

It was a few seconds before Nico noticed that the tapping of his quill was attracting unwanted attention. Half of the student content of the Slytherin common room was glaring at him silently, either in irritation or mild surprise. After all, how dare he disturb the absolute stillness and tranquillity required by the high and mighty of Slytherin House, and, by extension, the elite of Hogwarts herself? He, a lowly (professed) half-blood, defy the orders of the likes of Malfoy, Runcorn and Rosier?

Were Nico anywhere else in Hogwarts or the outer world, heavy sarcasm would have laced those thoughts as they crossed his mind. However, having spent several hours in his rightful common room with his housemates, he was crucially aware that in Slytherin House personal beliefs became politics, and politics became policies. Anyone who thought differently from the majority either had to prove their moral/political superiority to their peers, or be shunned and mocked until Tartarus froze over. Having been there, Nico could assert that wasn't going to happen anytime soon.

Of course, since their House's snaky bastard patron had been rather convinced of pure-blooded wizards' general superiority over the rest of humanity, any diverging opinions stood about as much chance of flourishing as Demeter had of convincing Nico to eat wholemeal bread (he barely had the appetite to manage the white as it was). So far, the ruling belief, and thus attitude, of Slytherin House was that muggle-borns were inferior and unworthy of studying magic; magic itself was gradually disappearing from noble, pure-bred families; magic was thus becoming impossibly precious, and evidently the only persons privileged to use and delve into it had to be of ideal genealogical disposition.

So Malfoy and his cronies had tried to impress on the dark, quiet, observant new fifth-year who had yet to declare any political affiliations. A rare thing in Slytherin, for students sorted there, under peer pressure, usually declared who their parents were within seconds. The first thing that had made him stand out to his classmates was his reaction to Malfoy's drawling inquiry as to who his 'people' were and what position they had in the Ministry, which received an unimpressed raised eyebrow and precisely no verbal response from Nico himself.

Nevertheless, in the past couple of weeks Nico had learned much. Among other things (such as giving the hormonal seventh-year male prefect a wide berth if one wished to keep their facial features normal) this included not outwardly disagreeing with the Slytherin élite (or at least not blatantly). Slytherin spats and quarrels, he had learned, were not uncivilised affairs of exchanged insults, outbursts of temper or, heaven forbid, physical blows. No, Slytherins were expected to sort out disagreements between themselves using more refined talents, such as the undermining of an opponent, the invoking of powerful family members, reminders of familial wealth, and always, _always _the power of one such other who would be delighted to uphold the honour of the accused.

In short, arguments weren't duels, they well full-out battles laid out by the two opposing sides, each manoeuvre planned and executed like moves on a chessboard - only with considerably less gallantry, despite the cold mask of courtesy and formality upheld by nearly all Slytherin students in fourth-year and above.

Thus, when Nico met the narrowed gaze of Draco Malfoy, the former was certain he was in for something a bit more than hurling snipes and dodging insults.

He dropped his quill and pushed the blank parchment away from him, eyeing the boy in the way he knew unnerved a lot of people. He knew what was coming; he'd seen this game before. Three days ago, sixth-year Edmond Rosier had strutted into the common room and thrown a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ into Malfoy's lap, open at an article which, they had learned, laid heavy doubts on the legitimacy of Lord Malfoy Senior's claims to certain company shares within the Ministry. Through silky phrases of fake empathy over thinly-veiled glee, Rosier had made it clear his own father had played a role in humiliating the Malfoy family.

Draco Malfoy had picked up the paper with controlled disgust, glanced at the signature under the article, then scoffed and threw the copy into the fire.

"You should conduct your research a lot more carefully next time, Rosier." he'd called out, settling back into the divan and closing his eyes. "My father doesn't own shares. He owns companies."

"Companies with barely a claim to legality." Rosier had shot back, waggling another copy of the newspaper at Malfoy and jabbing at the article.

Malfoy's head turned to face Rosier.

"Yes," his voice was so quiet it was almost a whisper. "I'd expect you'd know the difference, wouldn't you? Tell me, Edmond, how's _your _father's entreprise going? Still importing dried Veela skin and powdered Mermaid scales?"

Rosier's fists had clenched, the one Nico could see closed so tight the knuckles were threatening to pop out.

Malfoy lazily waved his wand, and a book shot out of his black leather satchel before landing squarely in his hand. There was complete silence in the room as Malfoy leafed through the pages at a languid pace, finally hitting the passage he wanted a few moments later. Despite the blond boy's relaxed attitude, the entire response had taken only a few seconds, and Rosier had not yet found a way to hit back.

"Ah." Malfoy said, just as quietly. "_Veela._ Says here they're humanoid creatures, and therefore protected everywhere in Europe. And...let's see - yes, _Mermaids_. Declared as sentient, powerfully magical creatures with strong resemblance to human mentality. Equally protected." The cold grey eyes swivelled to Rosier's glaring features. "Seems legality is a charge neither you nor your father should risk pressing, Edmond, unless you've found a rogue branch of part-humans in Asia and convinced the Ministry to allow imports of dried parts of their anatomy."

The verbal exchange had stopped there, leaving Rosier in white-lipped fury and Malfoy smugly returning to closing his eyes, but the quarrel was by no means over. The sensitive information concerning Rosier Senior's business, so carelessly revealed by Malfoy, was very clearly _not _meant to be public knowledge, and a clear warning and reminder of the Malfoy patriarch's omniscience in business circles. Warning, it later transpired, which Rosier decided to ignore it as best as he could.

The next few days had been marked by a number of strange occurrences that no-one could concretely trace back to anyone else, and yet happen they certainly did.

At breakfast, Rosier received a note from the family lawyer, informing him of his father's temporary arrest in view of several serious accusations concerning the morality of certain aspects of his work. The same morning, Malfoy's usual spot on the Slytherin table was flooded with dozens of owls, all shrieking and flapping and holding out legs to deliver a great variety of envelopes that all shared the common trait of being on the verge of exploding, which they did as soon as anyone touched them. Malfoy and his cronies had to be excused from their first lesson to have mild burns and scorches treated by the school's mediwitch, Madam Pomfrey.

Such was Nico's first experience of Howlers.

Soon after, Malfoy found himself unable to talk every time a teacher picked him to answer a question. Curiously, Rosier struggled with a brief spell of incontinence on the same day, leading to hoots of laughter, several missed lessons and the sudden drifting of Rosier's friends towards other circles, including Malfoy's.

Then, once tension had died down for an hour or two, both Crabbe and Goyle mysteriously contracted purple boils on their faces, limbs, and - rumour had it - nether regions. This rendered flanking Malfoy while walking around the castle and looking menacing a very difficult thing to do, seeing as - if rumour were consulted once more - the boils were prone to bursting. Malfoy was then of course obliged to walk the long corridors of Hogwarts alone, which revealed a certain propensity on his part for tripping over air, falling down stairs and slipping in muddy puddles.

Finally, over dinner on the third day, matters had been settled. A still-flushed Rosier shook hands with a bruised Malfoy, and Slytherin House could breathe freely again (Crabbe and Goyle's boils had the added disadvantage of dissipating a nauseous smell when they ruptured).

Memories of the recent disagreement crossed Nico's mind during his glaring match with the young Malfoy heir. He wasn't by any means frightened of the jumped-up little aristocrat, but he _had_ seen what he could do, and more to the point, howhe did it without leaving evidence of his involvement.

Not that Nico needed proof in any way. He wasn't about to go tattling to a teacher about the nasty kids who'd been mean to him, but he needed to be careful nonetheless. The pranks and petty acts of revenge exacted between opponents were just that: petty. But they were of a kind Nico had never dealt with before. He was used to sword-fighting, monster attacks and full-front charging on the enemy, not shadowy deals and promises or back-stabbing. This was new territory, and one he would never have imagined he had an ability for except for one thing that kept niggling him whenever he tried to mix more within Slytherin: the Hat had put him here for a reason.

He wasn't that ambitious. Of that, he was quite sure of. No. Nico could be cunning, deceitful, unpredictable. Of all the demigods at Hogwarts, Nico suspected he was the one who found it easiest to hide his true identity. All his life, he'd avoided people and their questions, he'd taken care to hide his thoughts and feelings from the world, kept his own judgement when it mattered and yet managed to persuade people into action when necessary.

And overall, it had paid off. He'd tricked Percy into following him in the Underworld; he'd successfully kept the extent of his emotions hidden from everyone for years; hell, he'd even persuaded Hades to help fight Kronos!

But it was clear Slytherin was the 'bad' house, the one where the bullies mostly came from, and at first Nico had wondered at the Hat's choice. Most students avoided Slytherins, and friendships (to avoid saying 'alliances') were very rare outside the confines of the House. Although to be fair, Slytherin students weren't doing their utmost to contradict such a reputation, either. If anything, many revelled in it. Crabbe and Goyle were prime examples of big bullies with much more brawn than brains, but did not let that stop them from shoving their way through crowds and arguments.

The Hat's decision to place him in Slytherin had stung a little at first, he could admit that. But once he'd looked past the narrow, calculating gazes of his fellow housemates, he'd seen the true potential of this House - a potential that also accounted for placing sweet, kind Piper in along with him. Slytherin House wasn't an incarnate competition for who could be the nastiest, it wasn't about whose family was more powerful than another. It wasn't even about establishing contacts to further your own ambitions in life. All of those were currently staple in Slytherin, sure enough, but that was because its occupants were moody, hormonal teenagers with no idea of the real world and the pressure of being expected to show political adroitness, which inevitably brought out the worst in them.

No, Slytherin House was about _style._ Who could persuade someone to concede something they had no wish to allow. How smoothly one could argue their side of the story. How subtly one could voice an offer and yet make it seem like a perfectly bland statement. How quickly one could think on their feet once the tables turned out of their favour. Any adult who was active in the political world would recognise these traits as tools and qualities to further _everyone's _interests in the world, not just their own. Problem was, self-inflated teenagers who were in an almost constant locking of horns had trouble seeing past their own interests. It was this that Nico had set himself the aim of fixing.

He had privately shared these thoughts with Piper, and she had smiled, remarking how similar some of it was to the mindset for charmspeak. It was never about your own interests, she explained, confirming his thoughts on the matter, it had to be how you could you turn your opponent's desires to your advantage, and possibly against theirs.

The most difficult of all, they agreed, was making it happen without it being obvious. Piper's powers were all very well and good, but the fact remained that encouraging someone to do something highly desirable on their account but not, say, socially acceptable, was entirely possible with charmspeak, but also very likely to attract a lot of suspicion, especially if said person was entirely aware of the...er, questionable nature of their wish.

Which was why, Nico reasoned with a sigh as Malfoy unfolded himself from the divan and swaggered to his shadowy spot near the door, he would have to find his own way of gaining respect and authority within Slytherin. In any case, Piper was unavailable, being with Jason somewhere else entirely, doing whatever it was Aphrodite girls did with their boyfriends - probably braiding hair and making friendship bracelets.

"Malfoy," Nico greeted his housemate in a voice so flat not even a marble would find cause to roll askew on it, "I see you've recovered from your ordeal the other day."

Malfoy scowled.

"The situation was always perfectly under control. Crabbe and Goyle were the ones who contracted those boils, not me, and as you can see neither mine nor my father's reputation have been tainted."

"I was referring to the mice incident in Flitwick's class over a week ago." Nico said calmly, turning back to his unwritten answer. "I'm glad to see you found the confidence to get down from that desk in the end."

Malfoy's chalky cheeks flushed pale pink.

"If you recall, those mice were in the late stages of decomposition and yet fully alive - clearly the work of dark magic." The boy snapped. "It made sense to keep them at arm's length."

Nico's eyebrows raised in mild surprise.

"Arm's length? Looked like an arm, a desk, two benches and chair, from me and my friends' point of view."

Malfoy's lip curled. "Yes. Some friends you have, di Angelo. An overgrown Golem and a girl who could've escaped from the sugar-cane fields, yet who I hear is also your sister. And _Hufflepuffs_, to boot."

"Yet completely unfazed by mice." Nico responded, still as calmly, though his tone was starting to acquire the dangerous softness that his father's sometimes had when someone crossed the limits. Insulting comparisons of his friends, aside, the revelation that Malfoy knew of Hazel's relation to him was a bit of a shock, he had to admit. He'd no idea how the boy found out about that, and made a mental note to determine how.

This time, Malfoy didn't flinch at the slight to his courage.

"Slytherins are known for their survival instinct," he said, shrugging and draping himself on the arm of Nico's sofa. "Still... Care to explain the differences in your names and, ah... complexion?"

Nico didn't answer immediately, since he knew he was entering dangerous grounds. (_Yeah_, he thought with no small amount of bitterness, _Nico di Angelo arriving somewhere dangerous and with no idea how to avoid it. Shocker, eh?_) Parentage was a big deal in the wizarding world, and especially in this House. If you didn't have a name to match your talent, no matter how much you achieved you would only ever be thought of as half the person your noble counterpart was.

"We share the same father." he said finally.

"Ah. Widower... remarriage, I suppose...?" Malfoy said, his drawl suggesting he wouldn't believe Nico whatever he answered.

"Of a sort." After all, Maria di Angelo had died before Hades, in the form of Pluto, fell for Marie Levesque. For the first time, Nico realised with a jolt that both he and Hazel's mothers had borne versions of the same name, leaving him unsure how to feel about that. Angry that his father had perhaps tried to replace his mother? Pleased because it made Hazel and him seem even more closely related?

"Oh. A mistress, then?"

"No." Nico snapped. "Are you done?"

He wasn't. Malfoy made a show of rubbing a hand around his chin as he mused while Nico's fingers tightened around his quill, causing droplets of ink to dot his parchment.

"_Di Angelo_... Unusual name, that. Never heard it before, but no doubt American wizards have different families altogether, though I dare say some old British families must have emigrated too. Sounds almost... Italian." The blond boy's head turned to Nico, his expression a mask of curious innocence while his grey eyes glittered. "I must say, you do look a bit Italian. Any connections there?"

"Do I sound Italian to you, Malfoy?" Nico ground out, broadening his American twang a little.

"No, but it's the blood that matters. If you wanted to lose your accent I could recommend a few suitable tutors." The arched, perfectly enunciated tone of the older boy left Nico in no doubt that he had profited (suffered?) from such an education himself.

He forced out a short, humourless laugh.

"And sound like I'm coming straight out of a fifties' British soap? No, thanks."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, and his expression shifted to one of mild triumph. Nico bit his tongue. Dammit. He barely knew anything about media culture since the forties and he had to make a reference now, of all times?

"So," Malfoy concluded smugly. "At least some muggle background to you, then."

"My people are a lot less secluded than you lot, we mix more with mor- with Muggles." Nico said. Demigods often lived with regular families, they went to normal schools. They even sometimes had to fight monsters in public areas, so that was a least partly true.

Malfoy looked politely surprised.

"Really? That's odd. I seem to recall the separatist American Wizarding President introducing certain measures against unnecessary contact with muggles and their culture, only last year."

"I think you'll find not everyone agrees with him." Nico said, gritting his teeth, knowing that Malfoy was trying to extort as much information from him as possible and resenting that fact that he couldn't just knock this guy quiet with the hilt of his sword.

"Clearly." Draco drawled. "So what are your views on the subject? Separatist or unificationist?"

Nico wrote down a few words to give himself time, not even knowing what he was putting down. Unificationist? Separatist? Obviously some sort of political terms, but he barely knew who was President in the US, let alone any wizarding government vocabulary. Malfoy said the current wizarding leader in the states was 'separatist', whatever that meant, but advocated mutual segregation between wizards and Muggles. Okay, so 'separatist' as in keeping the two kinds apart? Then that meant 'unificationist' would be... Nico almost sighed in relief. And here he'd thought almost every wizarding person in the UK would be at least pro-hiding. Even if they were a minority, a sign of a non-prejudiced movement that was pro-coexistence was a good thing at least.

"It's not that simple." He said aloud, stalling for time to think. The words were longer in coming to him than usual. He felt uncomfortable, and completely unsafe, talking like this to someone he hardly knew and didn't even like - though that was no surprise since he liked very few people. Still, his friends knew he preferred to be alone and didn't insist when he was reluctant to join in their conversations. They accepted his solitude, his quietness, his... other traits. This was the longest (involuntary) conversation he'd had in weeks.

"I think we have more than just two options where I come from. A lot of people don't know what to think, because each side has their own propaganda, and sometimes they fire the same message, use the same examples, give the same reasons, until everyone is confused about who's on which side."

"Side?" Malfoy said, crossing his arms and sliding down from the arm of the sofa to sit cross-legged on the seat next to Nico, who scooted away, scowling. "There _are _no 'sides', it's not us against them, it's not even you against me. It's a constant flow of tides, going in one direction for a while, then getting overwhelmed by a wave of the opposition's momentum, only for the wave to disappear and another barren reef to pop up for people's opinions to wash ashore on. And let me tell you, opinions change almost as often as the tides."

"But it's still a struggle." Nico argued. "It's still a competition of who's going to win over who."

"Well," Malfoy said, smirking a bit, "of course , but these are politics, not battles. There is no 'right' side, and there is no 'wrong' side. Those words only appear when a victory's been declared, and even then, a _battle _stops. At worst, it carries on for a few years, and maybe the causes each side stands for will last for a century or two. But politics... they last forever. There will always be issues to deal with, scuffles and duels to change the way people are run every day, powerful movements being overrun by motley groups with more support than they have policies."

Nico studied the boy in front of him, and was surprised to find none of the original malice that he had found so repulsive in him at first. Instead, there was a light in his eyes, a passion for the subject, a smooth eloquence to his words that, despite his youth, made him quite the orator.

"So I take it you're separatist?" Nico asked, as casually as he could without cringing.

Malfoy's lip curled slightly upwards.

"I'm whatever the tide leaves behind, di Angelo. I'm the one who'll be left to organise the lost souls who wash up on the barren shore."

0o0o0o0o0o0

Percy met Annabeth at the entrance of the Great Hall, and together they went down to the Quidditch pitch, not even noticing the drizzle that was, it seemed, the standard autumnal weather of northern Scotland. The fifty-feet-high bubble blowers loomed as they walked around the edge of the carefully manicured pitch, prompting Percy to wonder why, for a sport that was played mainly in the air, it required a ground so perfectly green and uniform. For his part, he had only ever really heard of Quidditch, having been at Hogwarts too short a time to have witnessed a match yet, and though he had gathered it was some sort of sport played on flying broomsticks (one was not to ask details of such things if said things were thought to be as common and obvious as brushing your teeth) he had yet to see anyone play it.

The demigods had all been approached at one time or another to inquire if they would consider playing Quidditch for their House, but once Hazel and Thalia had turned green and it was clear none of the others would volunteer to do so, the matter was quickly dropped. Jason had subsequently expressed an interest, but was unwilling to try it without at least one figure of moral support, and he had yet to convince anyone of accompanying him. The tryouts had occurred a few days ago, which effectively annulled any of their chances of making the House team, but as Hazel pointed out, they were hardly going to be good enough at something they'd never done before to be selected anyway.

However, it was not Quidditch that interested the demigods that afternoon, but the changing rooms near it, or rather the roomy, secluded clearing that bordered the Forbidden Forest behind them that provided excellent ground and shelter to practice sparring, fighting, archery and any other martial activity that would be considered out of place in Hogwarts herself.

Percy and Annabeth found the rest of their friends already there, with Thalia exchanging blows with Jason while Hazel helped Piper revise her stance and technique. Frank frowned slightly as he sharpened his various weapons (Percy honestly had no idea how he concealed them about his person, especially since he had reason to believe he had them on him all the damn time) as though he were worried they were rusting, though every demigod knew for a fact that all weapons of celestial bronze and imperial gold were forever impervious to rust and wear.

Percy readily took out Riptide from his pocket, eager to return to the usual sparring routine they went through at Camp Half-Blood. Their quest preceding Gaea's awakening had informed Percy the hard way that his sword-fighting skills hadn't, say, preserved any vestiges of the achilles' curse, which meant if he wasn't careful he was as likely to be killed by Karpoi as by a Manticore. Their exercises varied, going from regular duels to full-on teamwork battles that resembled bouts of Capture The Flag, while others were more Roman in nature, focusing instead on clever, precise strategy and battle manoeuvres. There were no real limits to what they could do, most of them having handled live weapons since they were children, but the general rule was that no demigod, under any circumstances, was to use their specialised powers in a practice duel. Individual powers, it was universally agreed, were for real-life battles.

Percy sparred first with Frank, nearly losing an arm after his opponent sprang a Roman on him and neatly disarmed him before moving, as it were, for the kill. Thankfully, Percy had years of sneaky Greek tricks hammered into him, and he managed to roll, grab and leap to his feet before Frank could fully regain his balance, and the game was back on.

But it was hard work. Frank, despite his gentle nature, had inherited a great deal of his father's skill, and Percy was hard pressed countering his attacks, even struggling to keep up his defences as the son of Mars hammered down blow after blow, specialising in lunges and swipes. After a few minutes, both of them breathing heavily despite the daily exercise of climbing countless stairs within the school, they declared a draw and collapsed on the ground for a while.

Around them, Piper was still practicing her moves, Jason was sparring with Nico - who, for all his inferior stature and weight, was holding his own very well - to nobody's surprise but universal admiration - and Annabeth was showing Hazel some basic knife-fighting moves. Slightly apart from the group, Thalia was attempting to teach Leo some free-running routines, a series of somersaults and impressive acrobatics Percy had to assume were made easier by her enhanced abilities as a huntress, because he'd never seen her do stuff quite like that before. For his part, Leo was showing very little interest in doing the jumps himself, and instead was fiddling with various bits and pieces from his tool belt. He'd been obsessed lately with finding as many sneaky ways as possible of making Umbridge's life miserable, and one could often find him in the common room tweaking little gadgets while others studied, or muttering to himself as he came up with ideas and dismissed them like a child picking only the biggest, creamiest chocolates in the box.

Percy picked himself up from the ground, ready to call out to Frank for a re-match, but his attempt was cut off by the exploding sound of something suddenly bursting out of the edge of the forest, yelling impossibly loudly and thundering out amidst their group, scattering their haphazard circle. The creature was a centaur, though he looked absolutely nothing like Chiron or any of his cousins they had met.

His flank was coloured a mottled grey with black and brown streaks down his back and legs, giving him an overall scruffy appearance, while his human upper body was hard-lined and covered with wiry dark hair. As he cantered around them, Percy spotted twin black tattoos on the centaur's shoulder blades, covered by a quiver full of jagged arrows and a wickedly sharp sword. His eyes were so wide and crazed-looking that a rim of white showed around the irises, the resulting expression something Percy usually reserved for locked-up memories of Tartarus. Incensed. Crazed. Furious. His messy beard was covered in hardened drips of saliva, yellowed teeth bared in mad fury and his bottomless black eyes did not leave their group for a second. Percy barely had time to raise his sword before the creature's powerfully dark aura overwhelmed him in nauseating waves of mad anger, the stench of putrefying crops, stale air, disease and death.

Too stunned and disorientated by the attack to form a proper defence line, the centaur had very little trouble smashing through Thalia, Frank and Jason's raised blades, even as Percy and the others hurried to defend them.

Within seconds, the centaur had notched and released several arrows with a crude but deathly-efficient bow, pinning Thalia's hoodie to a tree and sending her own bow flying. Within the next half-second the others were rendered utterly immobile, for Annabeth and Piper were sprawled on the ground and staring up at two notched arrows on the centaur's bow, ready to be released at any moment.

Percy's mind was racing. It had all happened so quickly. Too quickly. Their best marksperson was rendered useless, Annabeth's cry of pain suggested her broken ankle was waking up again, and no-one could move for fear of prompting the centaur to do something they would all regret.

"Wait!" He yelped at their attacker. "What do you want?"

The centaur snarled and spit at Piper's feet.

"Half-blood filth!" He growled. "On ma land!"

"Er... sorry, dude. 'This your lawn?" Leo called out, his voice a little higher than a two-year old high on sugar. "No worries, we'll just get lost and you can go back to seething and frothing like the good ol' days, yeah?"

"Silence!" The centaur snapped, gnashing his teeth at him. There was more than a little madness in the evil gleam of his eye, but unfortunately that did not seem to make him stupid or distracted, which the demigods could have used to their advantage. In fact, it appeared to make him alert on a level that resembled paranoia. His gaze kept flicking between the demigods, a stare that sucked all warmth and light into its depths like a black hole left a void in its path. The strange fire that flickered in the centaur's eyes was more darkness than light, and every time Percy met them he felt as though he were falling back into the depths of Tartarus, like the eternal evil of the place had claimed him once and would claim him again.

"Wha' brings filthy god children on ma territory?" The centaur demanded in a snarl, drawing back his bow even further to ensure their quick answer.

"We were just practicing!" Piper squeaked, not daring to move an inch as the centaur aimed the arrow ever closer to the centre of her chest. "We didn't mean to trespass on your property, sir, I swear!"

Dimly, Percy noted how strange it was to hear her plead for their lives without the usual edge of charmspeak. When Piper faced monsters lately, she was usually the one with the upper hand regardless of whether the monsters knew that or not.

"Practicin'?" The centaur let out a laugh that echoed of mocking crows and the groans of dying men. "A likely story! Firs' godspawn in the area for millenia, an' they's claimin' they're jus' _practicin'._ I oughtta rip yer tongues out fer jus' daring to say that, I should." He said, the maddened fury suddenly vanishing to be replaced by a horrible casualness as he single-handedly maintained the bow aimed at the girls and reached behind him, plucking a dagger from a sheath on his quiver. The blade was short, but jagged and extremely sharp. It glinted in the faint light as he twirled it in his dirty fingers.

"So," he crooned, "who's firs'? How 'bout the pretty lass with the gold hair? Shines brighter'n ma sharp friend, 'ere."

His cracked and blood-encrusted lips stretched into a horrible grin as he slowly clopped closer to Annabeth, laughing as she grimaced in pain and disgust and tried to drag herself away from him.

"Wait! It's the truth!" Percy cried out, causing the centaur to turn his attention to him. Behind their attacker, he could see Thalia slowly unzipping her hoodie and extricating herself from her pinning prison, reaching for her arrows even as she still had an arm caught in the silver fabric of her top. He had to distract the monster for as long as possible while she freed herself.

The centaur smiled again, and Percy once more felt like the world around him was stripping itself of any goodness left after every carnage in history, leaving only his despair at his friends' predilection and this mad centaur's evident pleasure at the prospect of torturing them.

"Och, ma sweet spring lad," the monster crooned, "I don' rightly care if what yer sayin's the truth or no. See, yer on ma land, an' I don' take kindly to people flauntin' their rights ta prance around this school like's they own the place."

Thalia had managed to retrieve three arrows from her damaged quiver and could almost reach her bow.

"So you live in the Forest?" Percy guessed. "Must be really annoying to always have kids wandering in and out of the place."

"Yeah. I'd sue the headmaster, if I were you." Jason joined in, his eyes fixed on his girlfriend as she stayed utterly still, splayed out on on the ground. His face was a mask of detached calm, but Percy knew him well enough by now to know that on the inside, he was probably screaming, raging to cut this bastard Kronos-style.

The centaur snarled.

"Human scum!" He spat. "I ain' never gon' consult with thrice-cursed manspawn. God children are bad enough, but mortals ent worth the food wot comes out of 'em either end."

Percy winced, really wishing that particular mental image hadn't just been brought up.

"Er, yeah, I agree..." His mind was racing, searching for a way out. He refused to let his eyes wander to Thalia, who was having trouble stringing her bow silently, lest he betray her. He didn't even let himself look at Annabeth, who was panting in pain due to her ankle having been put to too much use again.

Jason seemed completely frozen at the sight of Piper being in such immediate danger. If aliens had suddenly invaded bearing guns and chocolate pumpkins, Percy doubted he would have blinked. After a quick glance at the rest of his friends, who all looked like they wanted to help but were at a complete loss at what to do (even Frank couldn't shapeshift due to deep gash on his arm that left him grimacing in pain), Percy decided to handle this one himself. His companions' utter helplessness left him alone anyway, and it reminded him of a similar situation, where Percy himself had been the helpless one. He wondered if a similar solution would help them out this time too.

"You know what, dude?" He called out to the centaur. "How about we settle this like in the old times... with a deal?"

The monster's eyes narrowed, and he scowled at Percy, shifting on his four hooves before throwing his head back and let out a humourless bark of laughter.

"Ha! The half-blood wants a deal with _me!_" His cruel eyes met Percy's, and his mouth stretched into his horrible grin. "You best hope ya knows what yer doing, boy. Few folks've dealt wiv the Devil an' lived long enough ta regret it."

Percy was trying to stay focused, ignoring the dizzying nausea that the centaur was causing around him. His head suddenly felt like it had Tyson's hammer pounding inside it. He barely heard Leo's muttered comment of "Inflated ego, much?" a few feet away.

"Oh, I've met the Devil." He said, keeping his gaze levelled on the centaur's shoulder, which helped lessen the nausea a little. "And what d'ya know, here I am telling you about it. This boy isn't any ordinary boy, dude. I've made deals with Titans, killed Giants and tricked Gaea into saving my life. What have you done other than shoot innocent children?" He planted Riptide in the grass in front of him, feeling sick, angry, and even more reckless than usual.

The centaur bared his teeth further, but his attention was now solely on Percy, which meant he totally failed to notice Thalia, now standing with her bow fully drawn and aimed at his back. He hadn't attacked them again either, which Percy took as an encouraging sign. He knew Thalia could shoot this monster at a single word from him, but if there was a chance they could all exit this clearing peacefully, he'd take it, so he carefully ignored her for the time being.

"Then what will this mighty lil' demigod offer me?" The monster ground out. "Yer lives in exchange for mine? Sorry ta break it to ya, laddie, but seems at the moment like yer in no position ta threaten me." He reached down and grabbed Piper by the front of her shirt and held his knife at her throat to emphasize his point.

Jason tensed and tried to lift his sword, but Piper was very faintly shaking her head, signalling with her eyes that he wasn't to move. Thalia still held her bow taut and ready, but Piper's reaction made her hesitate, and she lowered it slightly, waiting to see what the exchange would come to. Percy held Jason's arm as further insurance that he wouldn't capsize the entire situation.

"Not threaten. Help." He corrected, outwardly calm, but desperately hoping what he had in mind would work, or at the very least buy them time. "Let us go, and we'll make sure no-one disturbs you on your territory again."

The centaur's bushy black eyebrows rose so high they disappeared behind the shaggy tufts of matted hair around his face.

"Will ya, now? And how's you gon' do that, eh? Ask the nice teachers to leave me alone? Cut the entire Forest completely off limits? No headmaster will ever agree to those terms, boy."

"The how isn't part of the deal." Percy reminded him coldly. "The what and when, however, are. Do we have a deal?"

The monster snorted, the movement jerking his shoulders enough to press the dagger's blade dangerously hard to Piper's throat.

"An' I'm supposed ta jus' trust ya ta keep yer word, am I? Godspawn are known ta be tricky sons o' pox-faced hags, boy. Give 'em an inch, they take a mile and yer best sack o' wine wiv 'em too."

"Where we come from," Hazel spoke up, her tone quiet but carrying easily across the clearing, "we make oaths on a river so sacred, so eternal and fundamental to the world that it bounds you to your word. If Percy swore on the Styx to ensure your privacy, he will be forced to do so."

The centaur looked mildly surprised that she had spoken, and Percy prayed to Zeus, Poseidon and the Fates that he didn't take that as a threat to his authority, because otherwise Piper's fluttering throat would very soon be more red than bronze.

The centaur made a sound that was, so far, the least horrifying of his reactions, rather like contempt but with a hinted beginning of reluctant agreement.

"Then I want ta add me own terms." He said gruffly. "The oath will keep ya to yer word, boy, but likely's not, it won't set a time to it. If ya swear to secure ma territory, I'll let you and yer friends skip off." His eyes glittered so malevolently that Percy's nausea redoubled and his knees nearly buckled under him. "But I gets ta keep one o' ya friends to keep ya motivated."

Percy blanched. Now this, he hadn't expected.

"What?" Hazel squeaked. "But we can include a deadline in the oath. There's no need for hostages!"

"Oh, aye." The monster agreed easily, his gaze still fixed on Percy, who had turned green from the wave of nausea fighting to overwhelm him. "But if ya swear to complete the oath within a month and ya fail, well... yer'll likely be dead," he jerked his chin at Percy, " an' not much use to me, and the lot o' ya are as free ta ignore me as newborn pixies. Whereas keeping one o' _these_ pretties," he grinned at Piper, who had also turned pale, "will make sure ya keep yer word, and quickly."

Percy cursed himself for not having thought of this possibility sooner. His mind was racing, but seeing the blade pressed to Piper's throat and a single drop of blood starting to bead on her skin, he drew a blank. He glanced at Jason, who was crouched like a tiger, fixated on his girlfriend like a cat on a swinging target and with a grip on his sword tight enough to break an arm. He didn't move, but his lack of any real reaction was all Percy needed.

"Okay." He relented finally. "I'll swear to those terms."

"Wonderful!" The centaur said. "Oh, an'... one more thing." In a single movement, he dropped Piper to the ground and grabbed up Annabeth instead. She gave a cry of pain as her ankle dragged on the ground, her face contorting as the centaur fisted his hand in her hair to get a secure grip.

"Methinks this lil' lass is much more likely to motivate young darkie, here." He purred, suddenly obscenely gentle as he brought his face closer to Annabeth's. "And t'would be a mighty shame to let by such fine skin an' lovely hair."

Percy felt like his heart had stopped. Piper was okay, ish, crumpled on the ground in a heap, trembling, but relatively unharmed. Annabeth, on the other hand, was struggling to get away but failing to do much, her features strained with pain and disgust.

He had to hand it to the centaur, oh he really did. To fool them all into thinking Piper would be hostage, then striking at where Percy was most vulnerable, all within ten minutes of having met them. Instinctively, he knew this was a different sort of monster to the ones they'd dealt with before. Wilder, more savage, maybe even older. And nowhere near as manipulable. Percy never thought he'd feel nostalgia for vengeful minor goddesses or prophetic bullies with gambling addictions, but in that moment in time, he would have given anything to be up against them instead of this cruel, shrewd monster who deserved the term better than anything Percy had seen so far.

He'd never really paid much attention to monster classes, and he utterly lacked Annabeth's constant need for research and further information, but right now every story he'd ever heard about centaurs came back to him in frightening detail. Hercules' wife Deianeira carried off by the savage Nessus, the rape of the Lapithian Hippodamia by the Centaurs of Ixion, countless tales of frenzied rejoicing and dilapidating drunkenness flashed across his mind, and he came to the conclusion that had been obvious since the centaur had switched the girls: he _couldn't_ leave Annabeth with this monster.

Admitting it, overwhelming shame took over, because he'd been prepared to let Piper stay as hostage with full knowledge of what that could entail, but as horrible and unfair as that was, it was the truth. He would rather have a friend be captured, or risk all of his friends' lives, before seeing Annabeth carried off by this guy.

He couldn't agree. He wouldn't.

Fortunately, for the first time that afternoon, the demigods had an extra card to play. He just hoped he was right in dealing it.

"Thalia." He croaked.

It was enough.

Without missing a beat, the huntress drew her bow, aimed and let loose an arrow within a second, one more in another, and was pulling out a long blade and springing onto the monster's back within a third. The centaur roared in anger as the first arrow nicked his hand, forcing him to release the dagger at Annabeth's throat, and stumbled away when the second buried itself in his flank. Dark blood trickled down his mottled leg, and a droplet of it landed on Percy's hand as the monster shook himself, trying to rid himself of Thalia's steely grip on his back and throat.

Failing to do so, the centaur reared and attacked them. Roaring in fury, he drew out his longsword, nearly slicing Thalia in half in the process and started hacking at the demigods with great swings that revealed enormous power and deadly expertise. Frank and Nico only kept their heads and respective limbs by dropping and rolling out of the way.

It was though a spell had been lifted. For all those agonising minutes of stand-off, the demigods had been unable of lifting even a finger to help their friends, forced to stand and watch as this sickening excuse for a living creature threatened and leered at his victims. Now that the balance had been upset, they let go of all the rage and despair collected during the exchange and unleashed hell on the centaur.

Annabeth having dragged herself out of the way for the time being (thankfully she'd had the presence of mind to twist out of Thalia's line of aim before she shot her first arrow) Percy, Jason and Frank moved as one, closing in on the centaur, swinging and jabbing at his flank while blocking his way to keep him as trapped as possible. Nico and Hazel brought up the rear, slashing at his hind legs while Percy and Frank methodically blocked blows and jabbed at his front. Out of the corner of his eye, Percy saw Leo scamper over to the girls, pulling something from his tool-belt that, he hoped and prayed, was nectar or unicorn draught.

As he fought, Percy could feel the familiar rush of adrenalin, but also the relatively novel sensation of cold rage: he wanted to hurt this centaur, maim him for daring to threaten his friends, _kill_ him for hurting Annabeth and Piper. Somewhere at the back of his mind, Percy knew part of that rage was directed at himself. He had failed to protect Piper the same way he would protect Annabeth. She was a friend, a dear and loyal one, but still he had not been strong enough to refuse her to the centaur. He had betrayed her.

The shame and anger, both at himself and their attacker, lent strength and lethality to his movements. He felt able to defeat this thing, his entire herd if he had one. For the first time that afternoon, Percy felt in control. Deadly. _Powerful_.

The centaur was heavily outnumbered. His movements were raining down on them just as viciously, but the strength behind them was giving way to hastiness and shoddy defence.

Seconds flew by, minutes dragged, time became irrelevant. Percy kept fighting, every instant aware of his tiring arms and the growing shock of his friends as, incredibly, they failed to take him down once and for all despite their greater numbers and initial upper-hand. The monster's strength was incredible. He kept swinging and blocking blows as though he'd just entered the fight, every single one of them landing with such force that Percy's arms felt like they were made of old plastic, brittle and terribly ephemeral.

Gradually, the tide was turning again. The centaur snarled and let out a roar that drowned their entire chorus of grunts and war cries. He gave one almighty shake that sent Thalia flying to the ground, knocking her unconscious as she hit a tree root, then somehow broke through their circle with a leap that would have shamed any equestrian champion. He cantered around them as they hurriedly reformed ranks around their fallen or hurt friends, notching an arrow on his bow. Their best archer down, and Frank busy with two swords, they were once more in a dangerous position, at the mercy of their attacker's deadly long-range weapon.

"So ya chose death after all, boy." The centaur taunted, his features twisted more horribly than ever in pain and anger. "Can't say I'm complaining, neither. Was always more fer the kill, me. But let me tell ya one thing;" he waved his drawn bow at Percy and his friends, "ya want to appear all noble and reasonable, 's fair as a judge gon' sober fer a year. But in the end, all godspawn are filth. They lie, they trick, they kill. The reasons may be different, but the result's always the same. In the end, you'se just like me."

The centaur rose his bow higher, aimed directly at Percy's face, and for the demigod in question, this was the end. The centaur was too close for Percy to successfully dodge the arrow, and doing so could mean his friends would be shot instead anyway. No more tricks, no more feints were possible. Demigod powers were out of the question: Nico risked dissolution, water was too far off, lightning put them all in danger, and Hazel had complained earlier about how rare metal was here.

Percy turned to Annabeth, wanting her face to be his last sight in this world, but Frank let out a snarl that sounded more animal than human. He dropped his swords, hurled a small knife at the centaur then turned into a bald eagle more fluidly than Percy had ever seen him change before, flying right at the monster's face. The centaur reeled in surprise, stumbling as the little blade sank straight in the middle of his chest, then bellowing in pain as Frank screeched in his face and slashed at his eyes with razor-sharp claws. The demigods sprang into action once more, but this time there was a desperate edge to their movements, as though they knew that, against all odds, this monster was still going to get the blood he had come for.

Their numbers now seriously depleted, they approached the monster in omega formation, a semicircle of tense demigods closing in their prey. So far, there were two good things: the girls were unhurt, sort of, and the centaur seemed unable to move in a straight line, let alone go for them again.

But that didn't change anything, Percy knew. As the past twenty minutes had proved, the tide of a battle could change on a whim, and right now Percy swore he wasn't going to take any chances if he could help it.

Frank kept up his circling around the centaur's head, and soon there were rivulets of blood trickling down his cheeks and shoulders. Unable to defend his sides as well as his face, the centaur was forced to retreat back into the forest. Slowly, step by step, the demigods drove him back. They were tiring, and their ranks were no longer quite so tight, but they had the advantage of numbers, and their opponent was weakened by blood-loss and pain.

At last, the centaur stumbled on a thick root and nearly fell to the ground, still covering his upper body and face with his arms. Percy took the opportunity to kick his legs from under him, slashing a tendon or two as he did so, then watched coldly as the monster collapsed, writhing in agony. A part of Percy knew that he was supposed to feel pity for this thing, this creature who wrecked blood and pain out of anger and possessiveness, but he only felt icy satisfaction at the bloody heap of pierced, thrashing limbs before him.

He levelled his sword at the centaur's face, immediately followed by Jason.

"Leave." Percy said, his voice so cold it was hard to recognise as he heard it come from his mouth.

"Or we kill you." Jason added, just as icily. "We've dealt with worse than you."

Slowly, the centaur lowered his arms. With a twinge of nausea (fortunately kept at bay by adrenalin so far) Percy saw how bloodied and obviously ruined one of his eyes now was, and his opposite cheek was gashed so deep the inside of his mouth was visible. The centaur's chest was heaving, his face ashen, his limbs trembling, but his eyes were as dark and evil as ever, and looking into them still made Percy feel like the world was a cruel, savage place of desolation.

"Ya can all go ta Hell." The centaur spat, the hate in his voice twisting his features past all standards of humanity. His hands shot out, each grabbing the shirt of the boys in front of him. In a split-second, Percy and Jason found themselves pressed to the centaur's chest, a thick, strong arm around each of their necks, already squeezing hard enough so that black spots and stars dotted Percy's vision.

"I may not get the lass," the centaur hissed in Percy's ear as the latter grappled at the arm around his throat, "but I sure as Hell won' leave withou' spillin' twice the blood ya got from me."

No longer able to breathe, Percy barely registered the words, nor Jason's feeble struggling beside him. He didn't hear Annabeth's cry. He certainly didn't notice the two unexpected arrows that suddenly sprouted from the centaur's shoulder, or the monster's roar of pain, and didn't feel himself fall from his grip. By the time the rescuing archer bounded into sight, he had blacked out.

He woke up a second later, or what felt like it, wincing at the choking pain in his throat, but alive and otherwise unhurt, though his vision was still fuzzy. Annabeth was beside him, helping him sit up, frantically asking if he was okay.

"Wonderful." He mumbled. "You-... ankle?"

"Painful, but not broken." She answered. "Leo gave Piper and I some nectar." Her beautiful face was grey and drawn, but she was smiling in relief.

"What... who...?" Percy asked, vaguely waving a hand at the blurry figure who had its back to them.

"My thoughts precisely."

She wouldn't let him stand up just yet, but they watched in bemused awe as their rescuer let out an explosive snort, taunting the centaur who stumbled back into the forest the way he had come.

"An' stay there, ya great wuss!" The man yelled after it. He turned to the stunned demigods. "A'right, there, you lot?"

They all nodded, too surprised or in too much pain to do much else. Piper was cradling her head in her hands, a trickle of blood still running down her throat, while Hazel, pale and shaken, leaned against Nico and a human Frank as they helped her up. Thalia was regaining consciousness at the same time as Jason, both pairs of blue eyes blinking in utter confusion as they spotted the newcomer.

The man was strikingly tall, well over six foot, with curly dark hair plastered to his face by the slight drizzle still hanging in the air. His face was handsome, but marred by long linear scars that suggested it had once been raked by very long claws. A few strands of his black hair were twisted into braids, woven with bright blue thread and secured by swirly silver clasps, a detail that struck a swaying Percy as rather contrasting with the rest of the guy's very warrior-like appearance. He was dressed in a blue tartan skirt (_a kilt_, said a voice in his mind that sounded like Annabeth's) with a sash of the same fabric looping around his chest and hanging over his shoulder. A bow hung in one hand and a heavy club in the other, carved with all sorts of patterns that went from daisies, to broken arrow shafts and dying foes.

Hazel limped over to their unexpected saviour.

"Thank you." She said. Always a good place to start when someone had saved your life. "But... sorry, who are you?"

"He's _Beowulf_." Percy mumbled, focusing on a golden curl falling out of Annabeth's hasty bun in an effort not to faint again. "Wearing skirts and all..."

The man snorted.

"Name's Jack O'Kent. Ya can all call me Jack."

"Er... thanks. But, um... _what_ are you? A wizard?" Hazel prodded further.

The stranger, Jack, laughed.

"Me only wand's this 'un, sweetheart." He said, lifting his club. He suddenly grinned, and winked at her. "Well, not 'zactly, but best not get too personal jus' yet, eh?"

Hazel's mouth dropped open in clueless reaction, but before she could so much as fan herself, Leo swooped in with his usual blunt flair.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but... why did you help us?" he blurted. "I mean, you could see we weren't winning six on one, so why risk your life for us?"

The man stuck out his lower lip, tilting his head this way and that as though deciding what to say and, maybe, what to leave out.

"Horsie 'n me go way back." He said finally in a tone casual-as-you-please. "Owes me a couple, 'f ya follow me, an I don' take too kindly to 'im messing aroun' the school. Scares the kids, messes up the terrain, an' none of us forest folk much like ta make a show near humans. I was passin' this way an' figured ya could do with some help."

Jack, who apparently did not qualify as human by his own definition, fiddled with his belt, refastening several little knives on his person, all the while appraising the assembled demigods with dark, slightly suspicious eyes.

"Now, me darlin's, th'question tha' begs ta be asked is, what did ya do that to th'Nuckelavee for?"

"The what?" Annabeth asked, and Percy would have rolled his eyes if he weren't certain it would worsen the nausea. Great. They'd been nearly smashed to a pulp or turned into pincushions by a raving lunatic centaur, and now they were getting told off for it.

"_Nuckelavee_, centaur what just attacked ya. 'E don' usually attack anyone unless they challenge 'is authority, or..." he paused, giving Hazel a once-over before sighing in apparent realisation. "Aah, you'se one of 'em, ent ya?"

He glanced at Nico, who'd come up behind his sister and placed a hand on her shoulder, scowling at the stranger.

"Now, ya'll both be children o' that poxy-blackened queer lord o' the dead, no?" He nodded sagely. "Aye, ya are. T's'all in the expression. That'd make the rest of ya half-bloods too, then?" It was phrased as a question, but everyone present knew it to be a statement.

None of the demigods answered him. It wasn't hard to see why. The man had an air about him that wasn't too dissimilar to the Nuckelavee. A way of standing, of walking, of observing each and every movement exchanged between them. There was a certain confident grace about him, matched by effortless poise with weapons, that put Percy and his friends on tenterhooks. With a jolt, Percy realised what made him so wary of this guy. He spoke and acted as a friend, but his movements were those of a predator.

Jack noted their guarded expressions, then laughed as they stayed silent in face of what had been, for all intents and purposes, an accusation.

"Ah, don' get yer underdainties in a twist, lads - an' ladies - I ent gon' tattle ta no-one. But, ah..." he winked at Nico and Hazel with a pained smile and a vaguely embarrassed look flitting across his features. "I'd appreciate it if ya didn't mention to yer Pa ya saw me. He don' like me too much."

"Why?" Nico asked, his expression as dark and closed off as it always was when he shut his true thoughts away.

Jack shrugged.

"Ah, 'tis nothin' really. A couple o' deals I made with ol' Lucifer ages ago. Didn' like that one bit, yer dad."

"Lucifer... As in, the Devil?" Hazel said, her voice cracking in disbelief.

Jack snorted.

"That what 'e calls hissself these days? In my day, he were no more'n ole Lucy, all sulky 'cause his boss threw 'im outta heaven."

"_What_? You mean... That's real? It actually happened?" Hazel asked weakly, her grip on Frank's arm tightening so that he winced slightly.

"Aye, o' course." Jack surveyed them suspiciously. "Why's it you don' know 'bout the Fall, then? T'were a fair bit o' twinkle when it happened, it were. Them ol' Christians wrote it all down in that bloody big book, didn' they?"

"We, um... We were brought up to believe the Bible was legend, a metaphor to simplify God's actions." Hazel said, while everyone else was too stunned to do anything but gape at the man who had casually informed them that the Devil did, in fact, exist. Even Percy, who'd boasted not ten minutes ago of his encounter with Tartarus and was at present incapable of looking at anything without going cross-eyed, felt completely nonplussed.

Jack scoffed.

"Legend? And ye ol' folks would be pure fact, then? S'Jupiter in all those true, _researched_ history books, is he?"

The demigods exchanged looks, not quite knowing what to say. True enough, Greek and Roman gods were supposed to be legend, or at least caricatures of the human being so exaggerated they were unreal. Their whole nature was so distorted yet familiar, so outrageous but often understandable, that it was easy enough to dismiss them as myth. As it turned out, they weren't, but to claim that _biblical_ figures were real... well, Percy wondered how many clergymen would give anything to be in their place right now.

"So, um... if the Devil exists, does God exist too?"

Jack shrugged.

"_Exist_... 'Tis a human term, that. Not sure if ya can apply it to whatever ya happen ta be talkin' about, but the Fall happened real 'nuff. T's'all written down, ent it? One of 'em demigods decided to tell the world what he learned 'bout th'roots o' the gods. He wrote a poem, 'e did. Bleedin' long 'un, too."

"You don't mean..." Annabeth's voice was an octave higher than usual, "You don't mean _Paradise Lost_...?

Jack nodded the affirmative, though as usual Percy had no idea what Annabeth was on about. Usually, it made him uncomfortable to feel left out of shared knowledge, but judging by his friends' equally confused glances at his girlfriend, he wasn't the only one.

"Aye, t'were the one. Never read it, meself, but word 'as it 'e got it all fair accurate."

"John Milton was a demigod?" Annabeth squeaked.

"Oh, aye. Son o' Apollo. He were 'is favourite son for a while, too, on'y once Milton decided ta write down all 'e knew 'bout th'gods' origins, Apollo weren' none too 'appy, an' 'e blinded 'im as punishment."

Annabeth nodded, her gaze oddly vacant. "Yeah... he had to finish his work dictating it to someone because his sight disappeared in the last few years of his life."

"But - uh... why did Apollo punish him for that? It's not like most people would've taken his word for gospel, anyway." Jason pointed out, visibly making an effort to keep up in a conversation that was miles ahead of him given the dazed state he was still in. Percy sympathised. He'd woken up a minute ago himself, only to immediately get dragged into conversation with someone who seemed to be an expert at avoiding explicit answers.

Jack's lips stretched into a genuinely warm smile that seemed to agree with Jason's point, but there was a patronizing edge to it that set Percy's teeth on edge.

"T'weren't what people believed what bothered Apollo, lad. T'were what people read _into _it."

Percy frowned, as confused as ever, which he was rapidly getting sick of. The others looked more than a cup short of a tea-set too. Automatically, every head swivelled to Annabeth in search of an explanation. She looked annoyed, but her tone when she spoke held the usual exasperated air that had become more of a playful routine than genuine annoyance when someone lacked her own level of knowledge.

"Written in the seventeenth century, John Milton's _Paradise Lost_ arguably remains the single biggest English epic poem ever composed. It was written with the aim of rivalling other epic works, such as Homer's _Odyssey_ and Virgil's _Aeneid_, telling the story of Lucifer's Fall from Heaven, and his subsequent attempts to undermine God by introducing evil wherever he could. He was the serpent who tempted Eve, for instance. I'm guessing the main reason the gods were annoyed," she glanced at Jack, who was looking at her in amused approval as she rattled off what she knew, "was his explanation of how the gods came to be. You see, Lucifer didn't Fall alone. There were all sorts of other demons who followed him: Belial, Moloch, Dagon... One of them, Milton calls Titan. Or, as we know him, Ouranos. Milton vaguely mentions how Saturn usurps him, and later how Jove usurps _him_."

"Saturn?" Leo asked.

"Kronos." Chorused Jason, Hazel and Frank, somehow sounding hollow.

"So you can see why the gods would be a bit vexed at Milton's portrayal." Annabeth concluded. "They were barely mentioned among the rest of the other demons who Fell, and the implication is anything who Fell from Heaven in the first place was pagan, damned, corrupt, evil, unworthy... you get the picture."

There was silence as the demigods absorbed this information. When a few seconds had passed, Leo spoke up again with a somewhat strangled quality to his voice.

"Are you saying Ouranos and Gaea were initially angels?" He said, looking profoundly disturbed.

Annabeth laughed weakly.

"Oh, sweet Nike, I hadn't thought of that. But yes, I suppose, that's what Milton seems to suggest."

"That's... that's just..." Percy floundered, unable to find the words.

"Preposterous? Unthinkable? Obviously flawed? Normally, I'd agree with you on all accounts, but Jack here seems to know what he's talking about." She nodded at Jack, who winked at her and smiled, almost flirtatiously. Percy scowled and moved closer to Annabeth, looping an arm around her shoulders though he nearly fell over in the process.

Jack smirked, then took a step back and clapped his hands once together.

"Well, as fine an' educational as this certainly was, would ya dandy lot mind if I dashed off and did me own business? I mean, lovely as it is ta chat with these beautiful ladies," he winked at the girls again, receiving several scowls and a blush in return, "a man 'as to do what a man 'as to do."

"Sure. Er... thanks for your help. You, um... you saved our lives." Percy said awkwardly, while Jason nodded in respect.

Jack waved a hand around, nearly knocking Leo off his feet with his huge club.

"Don' mention it. Firs' time talkin' with actual people fer years, anyhow." He grinned. "Centaurs an' Acromantula an' Thestrals are all good an' dainty, but there's no accountin' fer proper talk."

"Oh. Er, good... I guess."

"And now," Jack said, heaving his club over his shoulder and slapping Leo on the back with his free hand, nearly sending him sprawling to the ground again, "I bid ya all farewell. Gotta couple o' dozen fairies to skin fer me dinner."

Percy spluttered.

"You're kidding, I hope?"

"Och, aye." Jack answered easily, already walking back into the forest. "I don' much like the taste of wings crunchin' anyways. Prefer birdies, I do."

They watched as their rescuer retreated to his territory, united in stunned silence and their utter inability to even begin to understand what had happened in the past few minutes. Percy suspected he wasn't the only one to feel at a distinct disadvantage after having questioned the stranger for a while and yet still not being any closer to knowing who he was, too.

It was Jason who voiced their thoughts a few moments later.

"Okay. Firstly, what the _hell _just happened? And secondly," he sat up, wincing and bringing a hand to his throat, "I feel like roadkill."

"You and me both, dude." Percy muttered. He tried to stand up despite Annabeth's murmured protests, but found the world was actually a lot more wobbly than most people seemed to pretend. He clung to her, mindful of her fragile ankle but needing the support to avoid toppling over.

They all hobbled closer together, wincing and trying to ease blood-flow, patching up torn clothes with their limited magic and some help from the Mist, while Leo scurried around, tipping nectar down Jason and Percy's throats, force-feeding Nico some unicorn draught (for shock, he said, since the son of Hades was unhurt but looking paler than a ghost) and crumbling up their last piece of ambrosia into tiny pieces for the others to pick at. He also produced several clean bandages from his tool-belt and a bottle of iodine. The latter seemed rather unnecessary considering nectar and ambrosia's healing properties, but no-one wasted any energy telling him that. And besides, it was nice to sit back and rest while someone else did the running around for a change.

Leo's usually nut brown face was pale and drawn as he bound Annabeth's ankle in swathes of white strips. His flurrying hands were careful as he helped his friends, but his expression so closed and tight-jawed that Annabeth ended up asking in concern if he was the one in pain.

Leo shook his head, not answering immediately but his voice full of anger and bitterness when he did.

"I'm sorry." he said through gritted teeth. "I was absolutely useless just then. I should've helped you fight, but I couldn't make myself do _anything_-"

"Hey! If it weren't for you, Thalia and I would probably still be out cold by now." Piper said sharply. "And I'm sure we're all happy to have a medic to help us now."

"But Pipes, I could've used _fire _against that thing!" Leo protested, his voice getting louder in frustration. "I could've fired grenades, thrown rocks - hell, _anything_! But instead, all I could persuade my cowardly body to do was sneak around making sure my fallen friends weren't dead." He forced out a dark and totally un-Leo-like laugh, looking down at his work-roughened hands in disgust. "Some demigod. Some _friend_."

"It wasn't your fault, Leo." Hazel said firmly. "It was that monster. Couldn't you feel it draining us? When I looked at it, I couldn't see or feel anything except that the world was one big battlefield, covered in corpses with sickness hanging in the air." She shuddered. "I couldn't concentrate on breathing normally, much less fight - until Thalia managed to distract him."

"Besides," Annabeth joined in with a bitter half-smile of her own, "you're not the only one feeling like you were useless. I was a _damsel _in _distress_." She looked ready to be sick. "A freaking _fairy princess _being held hostage by the village baddy."

"Now that puts things in perspective." Thalia agreed, licking her fingers for the last micro-crumbs of ambrosia. "When Annabeth's the one in trouble, you know you're in for it too. One time, Luke and I got captured by monsters and kept in huge smelly bags. We were tied up and couldn't see a thing, but it wasn't very long before seven-year-old Goldilocks here was pulling us out and we could see the monsters unconscious, hanging upside down and covered in Christmas tinsel."

The demigods burst out laughing while Annabeth smiled shyly, flushing both in embarrassment and pleasure at the memory.

"Well they _were _green and spiky, so it made sense they should be dressed as Christmas trees." she reasoned, prompting more laughter.

It was strange to sit there, laughing in the meadow that still bore traces of their very recent fight with a blood-curdling monster. But at the same time it felt reassuring, because it meant that for the moment, the danger was over and they could just enjoy being regular, carefree teenagers.

Unfortunately, moments like those never lasted for more than a minute, not even in Camp Half-Blood where something distinctly un-regular dashed across your line of sight about every minute, and so very soon the demigods found themselves trying to answer an ever-increasing number of questions raised by recent events.

"Who do you think was that guy, Jack?" Piper asked around, frowning. "How does he know so much about...what he told us?"

"And was that even true?" Hazel joined in. Out of all of them, she was probably the one over whom Christianity still held most influence, and indeed she looked quite troubled. "I mean, Lucifer, the Fall, the Bible - all of those being true seems..."

"Un-freakin'-likely." Leo completed, tossing a popcorn grenade in the air and tilting his head back as it exploded, mouth open to receive several grains as they fell. "Haven' we got 'nuff day-tees to worry 'bout as 'tis?" He said, munching.

"What I want to know," Annabeth said, crossing her arms and staring glumly at the grass under her folded legs, "is how so many people can tell at first sight that we're demigods. So far, that's Moaning Myrtle, the Asrai, the Nuckelavee and Jack of Kent."

"And I swear some of the paintings in the castle have tried to make us talk to them about things they shouldn't know." Frank added, frowning in concern. "One of them once asked me why I had knives attached to my belt. They should be hidden by the Mist."

"Maybe it's like how monsters can smell us?" Piper suggested. "I'm not suggesting they've all got super-sensory sense of smell, but there has to be something about us that triggers recognition. I bet even the humans here can tell there's something odd about us. After all, they're not typical mortals, they've been blessed by Hecate."

"There's a scary thought." Thalia said darkly. "Sending us undercover to the very people who would be able to see through us."

Percy pulled a doubtful face.

"If that were true, I don't think we would've come this far." he said. "Dumbledore wouldn't've given us a place at his school if he thought we were a threat. He doesn't strike me as the kind to take unnecessary risks. "

"Who says letting us in was an unnecessary risk?" Annabeth said quietly. "For all we know, we're pawns who are just as necessary in this whole game as Harry Potter is."

All heads snapped around to look at her

"What?" Thalia asked. "Pawns?"

Percy exchanged a glance with Jason, knowing where this was going and having to suppress the urge to roll his eyes.

Annabeth's expression turned a little self-conscious, but she jutted out her chin in defiance.

"I know you all think I'm overanalysing things since we got here, but I still think we're not at all present here for the reasons we think we are. Even Chiron, who sent us here in the first place, has little to no idea about what he's doing. He made it sound as though we'd be studying like in a normal school, and it turns out we're learning plant properties and how to vanish solid objects into thin air."

Annabeth started plucking at the grass in front of her, ducking her head in what Percy knew was a bid to avoid anyone's sceptical gaze.

"Chiron thinks he's acting all top-secret because this world has no idea of who we are," she continued, "but in reality, I think we're no better off. We have literally no idea how to do anything in this world, whether it's ordering some clothes from a shop or defending ourselves with magic. And I think we're not as incognito as we pretend we are. Dumbledore didn't earn his reputation of being the greatest wizard of the century by doing things like taking in a small dozen of foreign students who landed on his doorstep - with no proper explanation of magic-transcending transport, might I add - claiming their home was destroyed by monsters with little more than a few eyebrows raised. I'm telling you, we're only here because he is _allowing _us to be here."

Percy sighed. This had to be the third time at least Annabeth was sharing her doubts of the man since they had arrived two weeks ago. He didn't want to hurt her by dismissing her misgivings, but he also had cause to think she was worrying needlessly.

"Hey, we've been through this." he said as gently as possible and taking her hand. "Whatever Dumbledore knows, or thinks he knows, he'd have to be stronger than all of us put together to stop us from doing what we want."

Annabeth laughed weakly.

"Oh Percy, I love you, but do you have any idea how wrong you are? He doesn't _need _to be stronger. That kind of man has a finger in every pie, a say in every official decision, an opinion in every debate. Okay, say we're unbeatable when all of us," she indicated the circle of grim demigods, "are together. All it would need is for us to be separated by an inane excuse, then rounded up individually, threatening one to hold the others in place." The side of her mouth twisted up. "The Nuckelavee managed that in little under a minute, how long d'you think it would take Dumbledore to hatch a plan that would set us up until we're as helpless as we were half an hour ago?"

The sudden look of alarm on some of their friends features, notably Jason and Hazel's, proved the weight of her point, and even Percy had to concede that their childish preconceptions of the world's dangers were probably going to change soon and drastically. It would be Goodbye old banding-together, and Hello sneaky sophisticated methods of Getting Their Way.

Thalia, however, was having none of it.

"Annabeth, you're being paranoid." she said firmly, in a tone of voice only those who had known Annabeth longest could use around her - rather like a sister to another. "I agree Dumbledore probably isn't as benign as he'd have everyone believe, but - hell, anyone who's heard of his duel with that other dark wizard Crinklewall-"

"_Grindelwald_."

"- would know that! And just because you think he suspects us isn't a reason to mistrust him. I mean, he hasn't done anything to threaten our cover, has he?"

"That we know of." Annabeth said stubbornly.

Thalia hit her own face with a splayed hand, waving the other helplessly in defeat.

"I give up." she mumbled. "We don't have time to worry about potentially evil mastermind geniuses. Piper, tell her she has nothing to worry about."

Piper did no such thing, but she took Annabeth's other hand and smiled as only she could, with all the warmth and sympathy one might find in a mother's gaze.

"I think we're all forgetting the purpose of our initial discussion." she reminded them all softly. "How do some people know we're not regular wizards, and how can we remedy that?"

"Yes," Jason latched on, glad for a change of subject. "That's our first priority. Also, who the hell _are _the Nuckelavee and Jack of Kent? I mean, who are they actually, not just the versions of who they said they were."

"Second priority," Hazel said, still looking pale and shaken by their recent ordeal, "learning the basics of magical defence. I _never _want to be that helpless again, not even in the regular world."

"Sounds like a plan." Leo said, quickly placing everything back into his belt. The grey light of the drizzly afternoon was fading despite the early hour; days were short in autumnal Scotland. "I have a feeling Madam Pince is gonna see a lot more demigods than any of us want."

0o0o0o0o0o0

Professor Dolores Umbridge, High Inquisitor of Hogwarts for the grand total of three days, twirled her wand with a last flourish and stepped back to admire the result, absently scratching her forearm. Her favourite patterned china plates were now perfectly fixed in the place of honour, right on top of the mantelpiece. The beautiful white kitten in the middle scampered around its china borders, mewling and purring in excitement, its huge blue eyes gazing at her in adoration (It was actually supplication. She didn't notice it hissing and spitting as soon as she turned her back on it).

She did love her kittens. They reminded her of days gone by. The extra-specially large one with a pink bow had originally been a present from Cornelius, with willow leaves delicately splayed around the edges. Later, when her poor old Blueberry was showing signs of old age, she'd done a bit of research here and there to make a nice memento of him (though not in Knockturn Alley. No, that encounter with that piece of low-born filth, Fletcher, had never occurred. And he certainly hadn't sold her that Ancient Egyptian book which contained spells that bound a life to an object and created an animated image). The fruit of her hard work had been quite charming, and now Blueberry could spend all eternity gallivanting around in his willow-patterned plate, and he looked so happy ('frustrated', was the word that sprang to mind if anyone else were to see the object) she had determined to do the same with any sweet feline that came to her attention.

Scratching her lower back (and having to bend in a most undignified position to do so) and repressing the urge to cough (she really ought to go see Poppy Pomfrey) about that green mucus), she checked her rose-patterned china clock on the desk, she saw it was almost five o'clock. Young Potter would be arriving soon, in that grouchy manner of his. She had to admit, the boy was proving more difficult to break than she'd expected. Apart from his first detention with her, he had shown no signs of regret for his actions. Then again, he hadn't been openly defiant of her either, except for that scandalous slur against Professor Quirrell.

Umbridge shook her head as she examined her face in a lace-lined mirror on her desk, carefully dabbing some _Cora's Carefully Concealing Concealer_ on a couple of vaguely purple-greenish spots that had appeared over the past few days. Really, the _shame _of it. As though claiming a dead dark wizard was now in power again wasn't enough, Dumbledore and that self-important teenager insisted that he had in fact been trying to rise for the past fourteen years that he'd _been _dead, including methods such as possession, monstrous creatures in a school's sewer system, frauds and major conspiracies.

The stuff of lunacy. Or the seeking of attention, which it most probably was. In that, they were certainly successful. Dolores Umbridge roughly rubbed at the back of her calf, looking up as she did so at a copy of last Monday's _Daily Prophet,_ enclosed in a gilded golden frame over her desk, a smug little smile tugging at her lips. She would certainly remedy that. The entirety of the school was now at her very fingertips, in the middle of her palm, to crush or to nurture as she so wished. Mr Filch, the deluded old dear, seemed to think it was only a matter of time before corporal punishment was allowed once more. Little did he know it had already started.

Umbridge picked up her black quill, sharpening the point a little more with a silver razor-like knife and popping a few of the purple spots with it before carefully placing it next to the blank parchment, adjusting it until the quill lay perfectly parallel to the paper. An old, familiar flicker of doubt flashed across her mind as she did so. Not because she felt guilty inflicting physical pain on its users, but because however powerful she was at the moment, she knew it was a risk using this quill while such measures were still generally frowned upon, or at least not expressly authorised yet.

Her base line of defence should she ever get into trouble, she had decided, was to stress the fact that despite all appearances, the quill didn't actually work with blood magic. No, such practices were ancient and raw and primal - the kind used by You-Know-Who on the Potter boy last summer, if one were to believe the ramblings of a senile eccentric and his brain-washed lackey. This quill simply cut into the skin and siphoned ink onto the parchment, full stop. With careful calculations as to the depth of the cut, the amount of blood needed for a continuous flow and the gradual increase of pain as the user kept up the activity, one could build up a sense that the quill was binding the user to the words they were writing out. Of course, the strength of that bond impression relied on the subject's state of mind. They were more likely to come to that conclusion when tired, frustrated, afraid, or weakened slightly by blood loss*.

Chasing the remainders of doubt from her mind and humming jauntily to herself to keep it at bay, Dolores Umbridge pottered over to the window, scratching her scalp, glancing out and happily noticing that, while still rainy, the weather had improved since last week's ghastly storm. Rumour had it that the fraud Trelawney had predicted a sunny first week, something which had prompted Umbridge to inspect her this very day. She'd been quite right in her first impressions of her, she thought with great satisfaction. The shameful woman had no skill whatsoever for teaching a class of dull-eyed children, let alone for the complex and noble, if a little loose, art of Divination. No doubt _that _would soon be remedied as well.

Still looking out of her window, movement on the grounds below her caused Dolores to peer a little more closely. She saw a motley gang of students making their way back to the castle. She frowned. Students still on the grounds at this hour with no supervision? That ought to be prohibited. Who knew what kind of mischief they would get up to?

They were apparently walking quietly enough, but seemed to be dragging things with them that looked remarkably like... other students? The light was too poor to make out much detail, and fading rapidly, so Umbridge pulled her wand out and briefly scratched the back of her ear with it, completely forgetting about Potter's imminent arrival.

Muttering a spell to sharpen her eyesight briefly, Umbridge managed to recognise Jackson and Chase, those two ignominious troublemakers, followed by their ragtag little group of friends. Two of them were supporting between them the little Negro girl**, who looked like she was having trouble walking at the same pace as the others. The arrogant blond Gryffindor was behind them with his arm around his girlfriend in a disgusting show of public affection, followed by the scrawny Latino boy and the other Grace twin, who also looked like she was limping.

What in sweet Circe's name had they been doing to cause such injury to themselves? Not that she cared, but they'd been coming from the Quidditch Pitch, that awful sport, and Dolores knew for a fact that they weren't on the school team. She even knew they didn't possess a broom between them (eavesdropping on first-year gossip could be quite informative, despite all doubts about its authenticity).

Those children were no better than Potter and his precious trio, she'd decided after her first few days. Always together when they weren't in classes, always talking quietly and looking up to no good. It was damaging to the school's good values, to see them all together, sporting different-coloured robes and knowing they shared a separate common room due to their unexpected arrival. Umbridge's lips thinned whenever she thought of it. Hogwarts Houses had been created for a reason; they divided the student population according to strengths and values, keeping them apart when it mattered and building healthy rivalries that would teach them some aspects of the grown-up world.

If she were perfectly honest with herself, Umbridge had to admit there was also the advantage of constant divisions between the houses that kept the students from banding all together, especially in light of recent events which Cornelius had been so anxious to control by keeping a firm hand on the notoriously difficult, rebellious young population.

Still, those foreigners were a troubling influence on other students. They'd even started the fad of ignoring House propriety and _sitting at other tables_ for lunch. The cheek of it! Such flaunted indifference for tradition wasn't going to be tolerated, and now that Dolores Umbridge was High Inquisitor, she would make sure every table remained decidedly uniform in colour. She would enforce a curfew which prevented dangerous outside expeditions. She would _certainly _put a stop to all that swaggering arrogance every student here seemed prone to.

Hearing slow, reluctant footsteps outside her door, Umbridge scratched her armpit and back of her neck one last time, shuffled behind her desk and sat down before neatly folding her hands in front of her. She ignored the urge to scratch her rear.

"Come in, Mr Potter."

* * *

***A/N:**** I know it seems unlikely one could suffer (even slight) weakness from an apparently minimal subtraction of blood, but if you start from the principle that the quill uses about 10ml of blood per hour (blood being thicker than ink, and old quills using a lot more ink than modern fountain pens) and Harry stays for about seven-eight hours for each detention (five to past midnight), that's a small shower gel container's worth of blood lost per evening (plus the constant leaking of the cut on the hand), repeated five times a week, for two weeks in a row. Considering it takes about 12 weeks for oxygen-distributing red blood cells to be fully replenished in a male body after a blood donation (for example), at that rate dizziness, short breath and palpitating heart rates are fully possible, weakening the subject, tiring them and - in this story - making them more susceptible to suspicions of blood-tying magic.**

****A/N:** **Please don't shoot me, I know that's highly incorrect and offensive. That particular phrase is used purely in the context of Umbridge's mentality.**

**Okay, another chapter done.**

**I don't think I captured Umbridge very well, but hopefully I won't be writing too much from her perspective. It's almost physically painful to see the world the way she does.**

**Thanks for reading, guys, I hope you enjoyed it as much as I liked writing it.**

**By the way, I'm off to uni for the first time in two weeks. Any tips for me?**

**UPDATE: Oh come on, you know this one. The chapter's title, _Hic Sunt Monstra_, means 'Here be monsters'.**


	10. Teneo Tuus Amicitia Cludo

**Chapter 10**

**Author's Note:**

**Oops, that's nearly three months without an update. Blimey, uni can be captivating in every sense of the word. Mind you, every time I post a chapter I do actually have to **_**write **_**the bloody things first. I'm not the organised kind who writes the story out first and then updates every week :)**

**Anyhow, thanks to everyone who favourited/followed this story, with an extra special thank you to those who reviewed. If I haven't gotten back to you, it's because (with all possible respect and gratitude) they didn't really have questions or need answering, and I didn't want to sound like an automated answering machine. (You know, like "Thank you for your message. Your support is greatly appreciated.")**

**However, there was someone with a question which I thought was valid. **

**Someone asked if I was a Christian.**

**To which I respond: sort of. Nominally, yes. I was christened as a baby, so I didn't really have a choice in the matter. In practice, however, no. I'm more of an atheist actually, though with a certain fascination in literature for angels and anything having to do with Christian theology.**

**So, on a following note:**

****IMPORTANT NOTICE, PLEASE READ**: This chapter contains some views on Christianity, God, Satan, Hell, etc. These views are purely meant in the context of the story and do not necessarily reflect my own. If you are offended by these, I apologise, it was not my intention. However, this is a story that deals with all sorts of old religions, and Christianity is no exception. There will likely be more of this later on in the story. My advice would be just to lay back and cruise like the words have no influence over you in that aspect.**

* * *

Jason ran both hands in his rumpled hair for the hundredth time that evening.

"There's no point," he despaired. "We'll never find it. There is literally _nothing _here that will tell us who the creepy bastard in a skirt was."

"He gave us his name. There's got to be something about Jack of Kent here somewhere." Annabeth muttered, though her eyes were red from lack of sleep and reading in poor light. Nevertheless, she carried on running her hand over a shelf of books, carefully tracing the spine of each one and reading the title before moving to the next.

They were all in the candle-lit library, alternatively researching anything they could about their mysterious rescuer from a few days ago and bashing their careworn heads against the smooth oak of the studying tables. The thudding sound had caused Mrs Pince to hobble out of her booth three times in the past two hours to search for the source, until she finally caught Leo at it and immediately threatened to suspend him permanently from the library.

"Gladly," he'd muttered once she'd stopped whisper-yelling at him, which involved a lot of spittle landing on poor Leo's face, "I've had enough of this place for a lifetime. Why are books so... _papery_? What's wrong with metal and machines? Couldn't they just scan all this garbage onto a hard drive, then design some magical crystal ball things where you could view them all? Then there'd be no problem translating it, or even _finding _it." In disgust, he pushed away an ancient tome that described, in intimate detail, the rites of ceremonial waxing and hair dyeing of ancient druids in High Gaelic (the illustrated edition).

"Dumbledore said magic doesn't mix with technology, Leo." Annabeth reminded him , plucking out another tome (_Heroes of Olde and their Favourite Pastte-times_) and dismissing it in the next beat.

Leo snorted. "Yeah, and Dumbledore's vision of modernity gravitates around what, the nineteenth century?" He leaned forwards, lowering his voice further, his mischievous eyes alight with a familiar fire. "Wanna know what I think? I bet they don't mix because all the technology that wizards tried to co-ordinate with their magic is old - like, _really _old. Stuff like wirelesses and cord telephones. With all the sweet stuff we have today, soon Dumbledore won't have to worry about Voldemort: he'll have to worry about all the muggle-born kids who figure it out before he does."

"We still use electromagnetic waves." Piper reasoned, glad for a distraction and setting aside the huge book she'd been reading (_Figures Moste Famous, and Their Impact On Ancient Civilisations of Bimblewimps (Humans), as Tolde By the Illustrious Goblin-crossed-Pixie, Benwick Fenne_). "A lot of the things we have today still work on waves and signals, stuff that magic would interfere with."

Leo scoffed, waving a hand past his shoulder. "Please," he said, "we have computers now; LCD; optic fibre; sensor technology; not to mention all the... you know, _godly _stuff-" he whispered, "we have at home. If I could just import a few automatons, an Archimedes sphere or two-"

"No." Annabeth said firmly, slamming another book on the table, making the others jump. "No matter how tempting a computerized system sounds right now, we can't risk exposing ourselves with alien technology."

"It's not alien!" Leo spluttered. "It's human, with a few divine tweaks to it, is all..."

"Here even light bulbs are considered ultra-modern," Annabeth answered severely. "To a society that's so averse to change, what do you think screens and instant communication would do to it?"

"Well it would make studying here a lot more efficient, for a start." Leo grumbled, fiddling with a discarded quill. "I swear wizards've never even _heard _of dyslexia. What does this one say?" he squinted at a large, dusty book with stains on the cover that looked eerily like dried blood, "_My Maniacal Coutures Aren't Done_?"

"_Why Magical Creatures Are Fun_," Annabeth corrected, snatching the book back but biting down a smile.

"Does is mention how amusing it is to be attacked by unhygienic centaurs with territorial issues?"

Annabeth's mouth twitched even more. "No."

"Then it's pointless. Now can we call it a day and have something to eat? I'm starving."

Piper sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Maybe he has a point, Annabeth. We've been here hours, even days, and we're no closer to finding anything useful."

"That's only because it takes us twice the usual amount of time to decipher what these say." Annabeth said, her tone both frustrated and stubborn. "If we keep looking..."

"Maybe we're looking at this the wrong way?" Percy suggested, having lifted his head from the sanctuary of his crossed arms and rubbed away the sleep in his eyes. "If our problem is deciphering the information, not just finding it, maybe we need help from someone else."

"We could ask Mrs Pince," Hazel proposed, though her tone was doubtful. "I suppose she must've dealt with a few dyslexic students before. Maybe she knows a spell or something."

"As long as-" Annabeth started, looking anxious.

"We won't mention what we're looking for." Thalia assured her friend, her tone understanding but also a little exasperated. "Annie, we need help here. If we can't even look up what we want _when _we want, we're gonna be in trouble."

When Annabeth reluctantly relented, the demigods asked the librarian for her assistance in helping them alleviate the effects of dyslexia. At first she looked suspicious, because the nine of them were asking for the same thing, but after having looked down her beaky nose at Piper's polite expression and sniffed that she had no idea why they hadn't come to her sooner, she led them to a small shelf near the back of the library's main room and selected a small, slim tome, which she handed to Annabeth.

"Beginner's guide to Hogwarts," she grudged. "Written by muggle-born students over the years. Hasn't been consulted for a few years, but it should help you adapt your researching methods. And as for your disease-"

"S'not a disease." Percy muttered.

"-there are a few simple charms in there that you can apply to anything you read. The spells' effects vary from increasing the size of the writing," she gave Jason's glasses a nasty look, "to changing the colour, style and, with more difficulty, the alphabet altogether."

Genuinely impressed, Annabeth accepted the book with gratitude.

"Mind you don't damage it," Mrs Pince sniffed again, looking supremely wary of lending a library book to a student, "I expect it back in no less than its pristine condition."

Annabeth's sharp eyes noted the scuffed corners, the faded cover, the smudges of ink all over the graffitied spine, but said nothing and instead smiled brightly as Piper assured the librarian that they would treat the book as though it were made of gold.

"Treat as though it were made of paper, girl!" the woman barked (it was impressive how she could regulate her voice to channel all her moods while not speaking above a whisper). "Wouldn't do the book any good if you treated it like gold. Ink doesn't stain gold! Golds pages don't tear! Gold spines don't separate from the cover!"

They scuttled off before she could get truly passionate in her book-loving rant and found a more secluded area where they could discuss their findings as they wished. The beginner's guide, as it turned out, was little more than a list of handwritten tips from hundreds of different students who had attended Hogwarts before them, some of them dating back from the mid-nineteenth century. Annabeth was disappointed to find that a lot of the advice had nothing to do with adapting to the lack of technology at all, but rather offered tips on how to navigate the ever-changing layout of the castle, tricks to get out of doing homework, even pranks to play on unsuspecting teachers. There were also a few hand-drawn plans to map out little-known shortcuts to the Great Hall, the dungeons and the kitchens, but overall little of real worth.

About to return the book to Mrs Pince and complain that she hadn't found the spells she'd spoken about, the book was snatched from Annabeth's hands by Leo, who, instead of starting at the beginning of the book, flipped the pages straight to the end. Such actions were against Annabeth's every instinct, and she was about to loudly protest against this unethical bout of disrespect when Leo gave a quiet "Ha!" of triumph and laid the thin guide back onto the table.

"If we want guidance about technology, better to look at the _end _of the book," Leo said with a small smirk, "where the tips are most recent and written by students who've been exposed to the same technology as we have."

Annabeth nearly voiced her opinion anyway, but chose to shrug and pointedly draw the book back towards her instead. No matter how more practical, page-skipping was simply not within her ability to condone.

"Okay. Point made." she scanned the first page, and frowned because she couldn't easily make out the scrawly handwritten notes. Frustrated, and tired of being blocked every few feet because of their combined demigod and wizard legacies and their clashes, Annabeth looked up at Jason. She had an idea. A slightly crazy, wistful idea, but one she really wished would work and was tired enough to attempt.

"Jason, what's the Latin for 'find'?"

The son of Zeus tilted his head to the side, a pained expression on his tired features. "Depends on the context. Latin's a bastard that way."

"The imperative form."

"Oh, er... _Invenī_, I think."

Annabeth cleared her throat, feeling a little foolish, because she'd never really attempted anything like this before. She pointed her wand at the thin, potentially life-saving but incredibly obscure book in front of her.

"_Invenī Incantatores_," she said, speaking the words with as much command as she could muster. With surprise, and no small amount of delight, she felt a rush of magic shimmer down the length of her wand, and the pages of the book whipped to the side, as though flicked one by one by a strong gust of wind, before coming to rest on one of the last pages of the volume. At the top of the page, written in clear, square letters, was an entry that listed several different latinized phrases. They were clearly spells, and all the demigods present regardless of their level in Latin could tell they referred to language and alphabets.

Annabeth laughed, both at her success and at her friends' astonished faces.

"I didn't know you could make your own spells." Percy said, his slightly accusing tone only the mark of how much he hated spending hours doing things the hard way.

"Neither did I." Annabeth admitted. "But I think I just got lucky. I bet as soon as I try another one my magic's gonna fail me."

"Well, it's brilliant. Why the hell didn't I think of that?" Leo beamed, pulling out his own wand. He grabbed the small guide and started to decipher the anti-dyslexia spells. "_Lit- Litteris Mutare, _um..._ Fieri...?" _He faltered. "It just stops here for this one, but it doesn't feel finished."

"_Fieri Graecum."_ Hazel supplied, leaning over to examine the entry for herself. "The first bit means 'change the letters', and then it says 'become'. I think you have to fill the last part yourself with whatever you want the writing to change to."

"Great! What's the Latin for 'hot dog'?" Percy asked, entirely serious.

Annabeth smiled, but pulled the book back towards her. They had work to do, and it suddenly seemed a whole lot easier. There was no time for snacks. She looked up at her friends, wordlessly asking for permission to alter the text, for while the Romans among them also struggled somewhat with dyslexia, they would find it even more difficult to decipher Greek, since their preferred font was Roman capitals. Unfortunately for them the Greeks present outnumbered the Romans, so Hazel and Frank - and perhaps even Jason - were going to have to leave the translation to them.

Receiving several eager nods in response, she pointed her wand at the text again, really hoping this was going to work as well as her last attempt.

The little stunt she'd pulled just then had been as much of a surprise to her as it had been to the others. Until two minutes ago, she'd had no intention whatsoever of creating her own spells, let alone inaugurating them in front of witnesses. The very thought of attempting magic and failing to succeed left Annabeth wanting to bury her burning face in her arms - or possibly Percy's - so that it was a wonder she had even tried it at all. Annabeth had to fight a grimace whenever she thought of the blow her confidence had taken since their immersion in the magical world. She had once been Athena's chosen one, twice-saviour of the world, and a leader at Camp. Now she was reduced to practising first-year spells in secret, blushing whenever a teacher asked a question she couldn't answer despite her best efforts to do the research, and utter terror at what would happen should she attempt a spell and make a mess of it.

Her dratted pride, she knew, was the source of it all. For her, as for many children of Athena, success was absolutely everything. And everything had to be solved, planned and defeated, or be unworthy of the goddess of wisdom and her patronage. There was a legacy to live up to, a mantle to take up, expectations to match and outstrip, a constant pressure to succeed where everyone else failed. Sometimes, when she was walking with Percy on the beach, or helping Piper pacify discontented campers, Annabeth foolishly felt confident enough to feel that was possible. That if she studied hard, kept her wits and friends about her, tackling the world and its problems would all fall into place.

Of course, that was just wishful thinking, as Annabeth often bitterly reminded herself. Those fleeting feelings of complete power over her mind and others' were breathtaking, addictive, wonderful, but also completely out of touch with reality. After the Nuckelavee's attack the other day, when they were discussing the motives of Albus Dumbledore in letting them attend his school, she'd chided Percy for underestimating the powers of reality, and failing to see how very divergent and disappointing it could be from one's visions and fantasies.

The truth was, she'd been a hypocrite in that moment. In the minutes before the attack, she'd been starting to adjust to their new life, taking it more and more into her stride, acclimatising to the differences in culture and expectations of those around her. She'd memorized the first three floors of Hogwarts so that she would no longer get lost and be late for lessons; she'd committed half of all their textbooks to memory so that, at the very least, her knowledge if not her technique was up to scratch; she'd been quietly planning how, as a group, they could upset Umbrige's hold on the school, and even researching notable figures they could contact - figures who, Chiron had once said, were like him in their awareness of both the classical and magical worlds.

And then the Nuckelavee had burst out of the forest, and once more her patchy, cautious optimism was shattered to leave behind an overwhelming sense of vulnerability and fish-out-of-water terror of the unexpected.

At least now they had clear goals. And were doing their utmost to achieve them. They had spent days in the library looking up anything they could find on Jack and the demonic centaur, but the dark circles under her friends' eyes weren't just due to exhaustive reading. They had all, following their close shave with the Nuckelavee, been practicing magic with a seriousness to rival Percy's attention given to breakfast. Nothing complex or even fifth-year level was attempted, but every minute of their spare time together was spent rehearsing simple charms and useful jinxes out of a nameless second-year book Piper had found on the grounds. For her part, Annabeth was convinced magic was one of those disciplines where the more practised and fluid the basics were, the easier it was to build on them. Therefore it had become their policy to memorise and file away every spell they heard uttered by younger students, whether it was used for mending a shoelace or tripping a bully. The more, the better, and the easier it would get to produce spells.

Their demigod powers had, to some extent, facilitated the process. For the eldest among them, like Percy and herself, starting the spells was rarely easy. There was always that little spark missing; a spurt of will that was forceful enough to make magic react and obey their wishes. Annabeth, Percy, Jason and Thalia all struggled to kick off their levitating charms, whereas Hazel had managed it on the second try. It was hard work, but, strangely, they found that maintaining the spell wasn't at all as difficult: it was a matter of keeping the same frame of mind for long enough, sometimes nudged along with extra input from their individual demigod sources of power. For the youngest of them, notably Hazel and Nico, the extra powers rarely made maintaining the strength of the spell easy, but there was something about their powers that made igniting the magic spark almost automatic - Annabeth suspected it had something to do with the fact puberty hadn't finished with them yet. Piper and Leo were doing well enough as well, though their patterns of success were too irregular to conform to the vague theory forming in Annabeth's mind.

Strangely enough however, Frank always seemed to hover in the middle ground. On some days he could start a spell but only get wisps of smoke in response, and on others it took him a dozen tries to produce any effects at all. But once the spell unlocked itself to him... Holy Hera, the power of it was something to behold. Since they hadn't yet mastered the Restoration spell, their common room's rug still bore marks of the twelve-foot long blue flames that had shot out from Frank's wand the day before. Leo's eyebrows were still singed - something that surprised everyone including him; it seemed the great Leo Valdez had at last found a form of fire that didn't treat him like a living doll of CalypsoClothTM.

Shaking her head to rid herself of all distracting thoughts - nearly impossible to manage for an ADHD person, but it was the effort that counted - Annabeth read and re-read the incantation before her, picturing every letter of the Greek alphabet one by one in her mind while holding her wand steady and firm, loosening her grip like Professor Flitwick had taught her. _Like a conductor's baguette, not a chopping knife,_ he'd said. As though she'd ever held either.

Annabeth took a deep breath, closed her eyes and spoke the words on the page, again mustering all the will she had in her to see the penned letters transform into a format that was readable.

She felt the spell work before she saw it. The now familiar pulse of magic ran down her forearm and shot out of her wand; her eyes flew open and caught sight of the last tiny blue sparks whizzing around the page before they died out and vanished. Annabeth grabbed the book and held it close to her face. The entry title jumped out at her immediately, clear and easy to read. The language was recognisably still English, which felt odd considering she only ever read Greek in...well, Greek, but the letters were suddenly as easy to read as Leo's face when he was planning something amusing on the subject of Umbridge.

She glanced back up at her friends, grinning, thrilled at her success. Finally, something they'd learned that was actually useful!

To her surprise, most of the others were still looking at the book, their faces all expressing varying degrees of disappointment.

"Shame. I really thought it would work this time." Leo muttered, rubbing at his mussed hair.

Annabeth spluttered.

"But... it did. Look!" She held out the book to them, and they leaned in, mystified, identical frowns of confusion creasing their brows. After a couple of seconds, Leo shook his head.

"Nope. Still looks like Incan mathematics to me."

Intrigued, Annabeth looked back at the page. The writing on it was clear and perfectly readable, still written in blue ink and as aesthetically pleasing to the eye as its former shape.

"Must work on an individual level..." she murmured. "Looks like you have to cast the spell yourself in order to read it. Here," she said, more loudly, pushing another book towards Leo. "Try with this one. The spell's _Litteris Mutare, Fieri Graecum_."

Frowning in curiosity, Leo pulled out his wand and pointed it at the page. His grip on the wooden handle was too tight, and his hand had a slight tremor to it; it was clear he too was feeling the pressure of being called up on the spot to perform in front of others - probably because his spells also tended to cause explosions or random objects to burst into flames. Though she sympathized, Annabeth was too curious to see how this would turn out. Leo cleared his throat, shifted his grip, frowned at the open pages, and spoke the words of the spell while his friends looked on.

Small sparks shot out of Leo's wand, zooming across the page for a second before, like Annabeth's before him, vanishing entirely. After a second of stunned surprise, Leo was grinning, though still anxious with anticipation. He lowered his wand and peered at the book, scanning the top few lines before letting out a delighted whoop of triumph, causing a dozen students to look up from their own books (it should be mentioned, at this point, that the only reason he wasn't shouted at to shut the bloody hell up was that all said students were British, and thus far too polite to do such a thing. They settled instead for pointedly glaring at him over the tops of the books until he shrugged in apology, after which they pursed their lips and resumed reading, mentally muttering about uncivilised barbarians).

"Works, does it?" Annabeth whispered, grinning.

"Oh man, this is so cool!" Leo murmured back, while Percy leaned over his shoulder to try it for himself, curiosity having replaced the bafflement.

Five minutes later, all nine demigods had performed the spell without incident or, strangely enough, much difficulty. The change this made in their research methods was incredible: exhilarated at their modest but life-changing success with the spell, with a new spring in their step, the demigods returned to leafing through the thick tomes of their selection with more drive and determination than ever, combining their new ability for reading with modified versions of Annabeth's earlier improvisation to find entries and specific words faster. The only drawbacks were the limits that Latin imposed on their hastily cobbled-together 'Ctrl+F' spell, as they'd named it, and the fact that the alphabet spell had to be re-applied to every page. On the plus side, this meant plenty of practice, and within half an hour they had not only mastered both spells, but also exhausted their current choice of volumes, no closer to finding anything about Jack o' Kent or the Nuckelavee, but flushed and pleased with the amount of research they'd completed.

"If we don't get full marks in our next test," Piper sighed with tired satisfaction, dropping her huge tome of _Magycall Creatures and The Beste Waye To Keepe Them Alyve_, "I'm going to charmspeak Grubbly-Plank into giving them to us anyway."

"Good plan." Thalia said, rubbing her eyes. "Could you by any chance also persuade McGonagall not to give me detention for forgetting about that essay?"

"I'll do my best, but I swear that woman would be immune to my _mother's _skills, let alone mine."

"Hang on, there's a thought," Leo said, rubbing his chin. "D'you think... Pipes, you heard how Umbridge is encouraging students to tattle on anyone? Well... D'you think you could do that?"

There was stunned surprise at his words, and a crash as Hazel's grip on her books loosened in shock and sent them tumbling back onto the desk, followed by Nico's hiss of pain as one of the heavy ones landed on his foot.

"_What_? What for?" she asked, aghast. "I thought you hated that woman."

"Oh, Honey I do." Leo assured her, the wicked gleam in his eyes, always smouldering these days, flaming anew. "Which is why we need someone to pretend to be on her side, and feed information back to us." He turned back to Piper. "Think about it. She told students to come to her if they were worried about their friends and what they're doing. She's not asking for facts, she's asking for rumours. Accusations. Gossip. Gods know that's the only way the Daily Puppet is functioning these days." he said, muttering the last bit more to himself than his friends.

"Daily _Prophet_." Piper corrected him absently, though her expression said she was actually thinking on what he was saying. "So... If I fall under her wing, make her rely on me for information, make her trust me... I could tell Umbridge about, oh I don't know - how I think the ghosts are planning a revolution, and she'll act on it?"

Leo nodded, his grin so wide he was starting to look like the Joker.

"In doing so making a fool of herself, and with luck completely disillusioning the Ministry of her competence."

Percy laughed and clapped Leo on the back. "Dude, I would _pay _to see that happen!"

"That's...actually not a bad idea." Annabeth said cautiously, wary of potential eavesdroppers but knowing it was now fully dark and the library almost empty since students were off having dinner. "In fact, it's great. Even if she doesn't act on the information, telling her lies will make it harder for her to distinguish them from the truth if it gets leaked."

Piper was biting her lip while packing her bag, hesitation in her every move, yet Annabeth could see it wasn't from reluctance, or even from fear of discovery. Knowing Piper, she was wondering if she was up to the task. Jason seemed to have noticed as well.

"Piper, you're the most powerful charmspeaker in the world." he said, "No-one can resist you when you want something. It'll work, I know it will."

Piper sighed. "Actually," she said, "I do too. I think it's a very good idea. I just... I have to figure out what makes Umbridge click. These things only work when you pretend to play in their absolute favour. I'll also have to be careful not to hang around you guys too much - 'cause no offence, but you don't have the best record with her-"

"Thank you." Leo said, perfectly sincerely.

"-and I'll have to be really careful what I say, and when I say it. It's going to be difficult and dangerous, especially if the Ministry is increasing its authority here. "

Piper worried her lip again, the previous look of tired contentment on her beautiful face disappearing to leave room for a thoughtful gaze and a preoccupied frown.

"I'll think about it." she promised. "I'll do my best to... prepare for it, and stuff."

"And stuff?" Leo repeated.

Piper gave him a shrewd look.

"I can't just go charging into her office and tell her the first lie that comes to mind. The time for improvisation is over, guys. Now that we have time to make plans, we have to take it."

"You're right." Annabeth agreed, swinging her bag onto her shoulder. "And now: dinner. I'm starving."

They loaned out a few more books for the sake of it, then trudged out of the warm library into the cold and drafty corridors that, no matter how many torches were lit on the walls or how many warming charms were cast on the stones, never seemed to heat up once the calendar had gone past mid-September. Leo had used to tease Nico it was because he was walking with them that the lingering cold refused to dissipate, especially at night. But with the number of deferential ghosts drifting about the castle, that had become uncomfortably close to what may have been the truth, and so they settled for light talk about the weather instead.

Dinner was a merry affair. The demigods were happy with their progress and new ideas for the day, and the sudden golden warmth of the Great Hall was like a hot bath after a trip through one of Khione's temper tantrums, making many students pleasantly sleepy and cheerful. There was also an extra buzz in the air, for Umbridge's especially sour face at the multicoloured congregation at each table fanned the flames of a rumour that she had failed to introduce another Educational Decree, one that would have banned inter-house sittings at meals. Perhaps even paranoid Minister Fudge had failed to understand how apparently unhealthy it was to have friends sit with each other, or else Dumbledore had had a part in it. Whichever it was, Umbridge's pursed lips and untouched food were an even more welcome sight than the rich stews and soft bread rolls served that night. The only one who was dismayed to see their least favourite teacher's lack of appetite was Leo, who had somehow, he informed them, managed to spike her food with something that would have made dinner all the more entertaining, though he refused to tell them what it was.

Later that evening, Annabeth was in their private common room, alone for the moment since the others had gone to bed and Percy had been waylaid by a few Gryffindors wanting to know if he would consider trying for reserve any time soon. Annabeth didn't know why they were so insistent, given that a) they'd never seen Percy so much as touch a broomstick before, and b) Gryffindor already had a reserve player for each position. In any case, she wished them luck trying to convince Percy to fly - poor guy still went slightly green whenever he thought too much about _people _flying a hundred feet up in the air on sticks of _wood_. "As though pegasi weren't enough," he'd vented at her a few days ago, "I mean yeah, horses with wings, I get why people would want to ride them. But _broomsticks_? Man, that's just giving Zeus the opportunity to play Whack-a-Mole."

Annabeth pulled out her laptop. She'd received it that very morning from Chiron at her request, causing quite the commotion among the Ravenclaws at breakfast, because apparently none of the three owls carrying it had any concept of co-ordination. They'd screeched, flapped and darted their way across the hall and, by some miracle, managed to deliver it to the right person, though Annabeth had had to climb onto the table to calm and detach the birds from their heavy burden. Their behaviour was so different to the owls her classmates used that she suspected they weren't rightly postal birds at all. Instead, they eerily resembled the owls usually depicted in her mother's shrines - and on the silver coin that had weighed on her for months before her quest. Fortunately, thanks to her heritage and her mother's affinity with owls, she was finally able to calm them down and send them on their way (though them actually finding a way was another matter entirely; one of them ended up flying up to the staff table and knocking off Professor Dumbledore's hat).

The parcel, though, she was glad to see. It had been a gift from the gods a few weeks after Gaea's defeat, as a reward for the completion of Olympus' reconstruction. It was silver, sleek and shiny, with an owl encrusted on the lid and about as thick as her thumb.

It wasn't Daedalus' laptop by any means. It couldn't fold into a wafer-thin, card-sized tablet, it couldn't make you coffee, and it certainly didn't have the thousands of brilliant schematics that the genius architect had constructed. But it was smooth, more powerful than any normal computer she'd ever used, lightning-fast, and within half an hour of first exploring it, Annabeth reckoned she would be able to program it to perform most of the tasks she'd completed with Daedalus' laptop - except produce credit cards, because that was nothing short of divine in the literal sense.

She opened up the lid and ran her fingers across the matte black keys. The letters and numbers were from the Greek alphabet, but would look like English to any mortal. Entering the security code into the privacy programme she'd designed herself, the screen lit up immediately and Annabeth set about trying to connect it to any network around. There were no immediate Wi-fi signals, but then she'd expected nothing less, since the nearest village was entirely magical. There was, however, something she was hoping to see: a network that had been set up by the gods who, after many years following WWII during which they continued to work Hermes off his feet to get messages around, decided some changes were worth considering. It was fast, powerful, and in theory available all around the world, on the condition that you were entitled to use it (that is, if you had godly blood or were a mythological creature).

But as she'd suspected from the start, no such network appeared on her computer as it scanned around for available hotspots. Hogwarts' magical aura was no doubt interfering with the divine internet provider, big time. There wasn't a single bar of signal anywhere.

Disappointed, but far from surprised, Annabeth shut it down and lay back to think about this new major obstacle. Leo's words from earlier kept coming back to her. _I bet they don't mix because all the technology that wizards tried to co-ordinate with their magic is old - like, _really _old_.

Could he have been right? Were satellites and such other relatively new inventions the key to making technology work alongside magic?

Technology worked well enough around the gods and their powers. In fact, it had been improved and even perfected by Hephaestus and Daedalus. Surely Hecate's magic could also be persuaded to go around a few loopholes?

Her thoughts were interrupted by Percy as he stomped into the room, grumbling about crazy people poncing around on cleaning equipment, and she smiled, glad at least that some things still were and would always be predictable.

0o0o0o0o0o0

Leo let the hot water rush over him as he stood in the shower. Steam spiralled to the top of the cubicle, spreading out into the cooler air near the ceiling before vanishing, only to be replaced by new waves of undulating tendrils, like ghostly fingers trying to catch the droplets of water condensing on the smooth tile surface. It was all rather mysterious and beautiful, Leo thought as he contemplated the sight, the simple presence of heat being enough to loosen molecules and levitate them into the air, until they became part of the air itself. And yet the absence of heat could also make them liquefy and harden, turning the sweet, cleansing rivulets of that life-giving substance to shards of ice, as cold and hard as any steel weapon.

And here he was, the son of fire, standing like a flamingo among penguins, somewhere surprised that water even considered working the same for him as it did for everyone else. Fire had always been his companion, welcome or otherwise. First a cradle, then a curse, and finally his saviour. Who was he to judge water for being so versatile in its forms? The heat swirled around him, responding to his will just as easily as his fingers were, idly twisting and turning, sending tendrils veering to the ceiling, pushing others and espousing a hundred different forms at once. Fire and water. Two opposites, two enemies, two companions.

There really was a lot of steam in there. Leo's head was getting foggy just standing there, breathing it in along with the over-heated oxygen of the cubicle. He had been in here for too long.

Shaking his head to clear the water from his face and the mist from his brain, Leo stepped out and grabbed a towel. He snorted softly. The things one could find themselves thinking about in the shower. No wonder so many writers and scientists had hit the jackpot while in the bathroom. Archimedes, Luther, Wilson... Maybe if more people had lived the hygienic life, they would have experienced brainwaves like those more often and put them to better effect, historically speaking. Leo for one had been surprised Hogwarts actually had plumbing, considering doorknobs and keyholes were still made of cast iron and the sole sources of light in the Potions dungeons were burning sticks on the wall.

As he dried off, he recalled what he'd been thinking of before the whole water cycle drama. His chosen quest. The Great Question. Wizardry's Most Handicapping Pickle.

Why in the name of zapping Zeus did technology refuse to work here?

Instinct told him that he'd been on the right track earlier when suggesting that the changing nature of muggle technology possibly made it increasingly more compatible with magic. Although he still wasn't quite so sure about the reason for that early lack of compatibility - namely perhaps the use of too many waves in twentieth-century tech - he felt sure there was a link somewhere. Old forms of communication had functioned on the principle, generating of and use of different types of waves. In other words, on vibrations and distortions of matter that in all likelihood were too easily warped by the intervention of magic, hence the one-time traumatic chaos of trying to use talkie-walkies in the Ravenclaw common room even with only five feet between the pair (not something Leo wanted to dwell on right now). Magic was, as Leo had sensed since he first stepped foot in Hogwarts, pure energy. And a sentient form of energy, at that, like the Mist. If it could be bent to perform the will of wizards, what was stopping it from co-operating with the latest forms of muggle technology, which no longer made so much use of crude signals or waves?

The answer, Leo could feel, though frustratingly evasive at the moment, lay somewhere in the way that machines were made to function. Not the mechanism, for he suspected he had a firm grip on pretty much any design the wizarding world could throw his way, but the spark, the little _zap _that made cogs and coils jump into action. In the muggle world, electricity sparked everything no matter which fuel was used to produce it. In the wizarding world, it seemed magic itself was the stimulus for machines to work.

Modern, efficient means of communication, or rather the lack thereof, were currently Leo's main concern, though he had other questions as well. He had seen some of his housemates working the common room wireless; with a flick of their wand, a word or a simple gesture, the radio would burst into song. He himself had dismounted the whole thing twice, to the growing alarm and curiosity of his classmates, only to find the mechanism inside to be perfectly akin to the ones used by Muggles - admittedly of the kind used seventy years ago, but the principle remained the same. How could the wireless work if if wasn't receiving a signal of some sort?

Perhaps it did. Perhaps it was a kind of magical pulse generated by the Ministry or whichever institution produced wizarding radio. But something didn't feel right: if a wireless could receive a magical signal from a whole country away, why wasn't it (the signal) bothered by the immense number of waves and signals emitted by muggle technology that it had to travel through? And besides, those kinds of devices only worked well with the use of satellite-relayed signals; the slightest movement of an antenna could send a tune to being a programme about dragonfly mating habits. Yet the clarity of the voices and music coming from the Ravenclaws' wireless was such that the presenters could have been in the room with them. Even muggle radios had been grainy when satellites were not yet the embryo of an idea. Hell, they still were.

The example of the not-quite-radio made Leo seriously rethink his theory on waves and vibrations, and instead focused on the other half of the equation: current. Muggles used electricity, and wizards magic. Made sense, really. But could one not replace the other?

Leo, remembering what Professor Dumbledore had once said, and after much cajoling, got hold of an electric toothbrush from a suspicious second-year muggle-born, and emptied it of its batteries. The kid had dismissively informed Leo that the electric function wouldn't work whatever he did, but that it was still a good toothbrush, which made Leo was curious to see if he could disprove that (the electric bit, not the brushing teeth bit). He replaced the battery socket with a simple power cell of the kind he always kept kicking around in his tool-belt (the kind that could power bronze automatons, only much less powerful, though it could keep a smartphone functional for a week). But, after prodding it with his wand and muttering a few guesses in Latin, no matter how carefully he placed the cell or how tightly he twisted the screws, the electric toothbrush refused to vibrate and revolve the way it should. Instead, it started whizzing round the bathroom, knocking beauty products off the shelves and cackling madly every time Leo made a lunge to grab it. Eventually, the perplexed second-year had gotten a very giggly toothbrush back, and Leo was back to step one:

What the freaking hell was making things work around here?

0o0o0o0o0o0

"Hey, careful! That's slug repellent juice, not water!"

Hazel jumped and snatched away the jug she'd just been about to pour over the leafy plant before her. Frank was holding her wrist, which he'd grabbed a split-second before her mistake. Professor Sprout did not take kindly to students sabotaging her little green children, even unintentionally. _Especially_ unintentionally. The first rule in Herbology, they had learned in their very first lesson, was 'Pay Attention'. Not just because you might miss a few details of what the teacher was saying, but because a sentient carnivorous plant might suddenly decide you have too many fingers, or a Venomous Tentacula would sneak up behind you and poke your ears with thorny tendrils. A sharp mind and keeping your eyes peeled were therefore job 'musts' for Sprout's students, though at the moment Hazel could barely follow a conversation, let alone fend off bits of offensive plant.

She sighed, and touched Frank's shoulder briefly in thanks. That had been her third mistake that lesson, and this was only the second period. This was going to be a long day.

Unfortunately, she'd been this distracted for a while now. Ever since the Nuckelavee attack nearly a week ago she kept losing track of conversations around her, sprinkled sugar on her food instead of salt, and once she'd even called Leo "Sammy".

It was that blasted Jack of Kent and what he'd said that kept coming back to her. His careful dodging of any pointed questions, his refusal to give straight answers, and, especially, his _ridiculous _claims about dealing with the devil.

Because they had to be ridiculous, didn't they? What other words could describe what he'd said about Lucifer, and the Fall, and God, and... Urgh.

Hazel kept shaking her head. There was something just so fundamentally _wrong _about talking so casually about the Fall of Lucifer like it was an unusual shower of meteors for the time of year. Surely something like that ought to be talked about with a little more... oh, what, respect? Sensitivity?

_Elaboration?_ she thought, almost regretfully. Their strange saviour had disappeared two minutes after shooing off the Nuckelavee, leaving them gobsmacked after the bomb he'd just dropped. You'd think a guy would stay a bit and bother to _explain _why he'd suddenly turned your earliest childhood upside down.

Jack _had _to have been lying. There was just too much smoothness in his smile, and his eyes had been too knowing, there was no way the guy could be human, not the way he'd fought the centaur off like he was swatting aside a mildly irksome fly. There was something about him, and Hazel couldn't quite put her finger on it.

To be quite honest, she wasn't surprised they hadn't found anything about him in the library yet. He'd implied he was no wizard, which left the unlikely options that he was either a god or a muggle. Certainly not the latter, since he was within Hogwarts boundaries, and... well, gods didn't strut around wearing skirts and claiming to be on friendly terms with one of her dad's supposed rivals. She supposed there was always the possibility of him just being a mythological person, like Icarus and Romulus, but they were in the highlands of Scotland: somehow, the idea of a William Wallace lookalike being on nickname terms with her father didn't seem entirely likely. Not to mention the fact that their respective mythologies were as alien from each other as the Chinese were to the Australian Aboriginals.

Then again, who he was wasn't Hazel main problem with him at the moment. No, her problem was that he talked about Satan and angels and gods as though they were all... normal. Common knowledge. Almost dismissible.

It had been weird enough to accept Roman gods as real, and then recently Annabeth had casually informed her that Egyptian and Norse gods also did, in fact, exist. The truth was, even after all she'd seen and done, Hazel still could not find it in herself to take this in her stride. Roman and Greek gods, fine. They were ancient and remote and mythical, a little like fairy tales. Learning of their existence was actually quite cool in many ways, and not just because New Rome's famous glazed dumplings were now famous in Camp Half-Blood as well. But the training, the adventure, the whole _world _that came with them made the blood and loss of demigods' lives almost bearable. They were like action heroes come true. Ish.

But the _real _God - as in, the God everyone in the Western and Middle-Eastern world had been harping on about for millennia - the God who was famous for never showing up or interfering - him, exist? It was... unthinkable. Hazel wasn't an atheist in the strictest of senses (there _were _gods out there after all, she'd had ample proof) but somehow the simple stated fact - even if it had been implied - that He existed sent alarm bells ringing off the _Carmina Burana_ in her mind.

God was a relatively new invention. A _Christian _invention (at least, the version of Him she'd been taught about). A deity that emerged from beliefs taken off a few scribbles and engravings on bits of broken rock. The nuns at her old school were always imploring Him over this, that and the other; warning the children that they would go to hell if they didn't do as they were told; comforting grieving people with the soft words of assurance that it was God's will. God, in many ways, had been a tool to control people and tell them what to think and feel and do - though that was a grown-up argument she'd heard formulated only when she'd been brought back from the Fields of Asphodel, in a debate held by members of the senate and the more intellectually-orientated demigods and legacies.

Now, as far as Hazel was concerned, she had been religious in much the same way that a frightened soldier went over the top: not really by choice, but willing to follow the crowd if it kept the peace with his superiors and he was not marked an outsider.

Hazel had been odd enough as it was, with her unpopular mother, her own cursed abilities and her different attire. As a child, she'd learned very quickly that fitting in was all to do with imitation, even if it meant integration in only the smallest of ways. The nuns had been notoriously severe at any allegation - even unproven - of blasphemy and heresy. So, out of self-preservation as well as a vague sense of obligation borne from her mother's sporadic attendances to church when she was younger, Hazel had accepted her Christian upbringing with as much meek grace as she could.

Not that it had left her with much of an impression. The nuns had been mean and hard-faced, her mother's fellow churchgoers contemptuous and judging, the other schoolchildren no less bullying for all her obedient prayers and hymn singing.

All of that to say, Hazel was not by any means a Christian, let alone a practising one. The idea of Satan, or God for that matter, existing in much the same way that Jupiter and Gaea existed was too much to wrap her head around. This was _the _God, Elohim, Allah, the one who popped up all over the Old Testament but had remained strangely silent since. The one who delighted in confusing and second-guessing everyone with His plan, saturated with ineffability and alleged purpose, the one who had _razed _cities to the ground for disobeying some of His rules. The one who had allowed the world, His supposedly most cherished creation, be torn apart by humans, the new kids in town. The one who had probably stood by and watched, shaking His head, as infants were snatched from their mothers' arms as their parents were carted into slavery; as naked and terrified children were ushered into the gas chambers of Auschwitz; as countries tore each other apart out of ill-borne allegations and suspicion. The one who had gifted humanity with free will, and stepped back to watch the results.

Yes, if he existed, God had a lot to answer for in this world, and a lot of bitterness to make up to.

Which was why Hazel - like many others in the twenty-first century, she'd found out - was having trouble believing that a God with as many powers as he was said to have would be capable of such things.

She was also having trouble believing that Lucifer existed, to be honest, and that the primal gods had originally been angels. But, well... Somehow the idea that Hell existed was easier to accept. Hell was universal in terms of belief; it was one of the most common traits between most religions, the idea that you would be punished for your sins for all of eternity seemed to have been popular among early humans, and had passed on its legacy. There was even a Greek/Roman version of it, which made the idea a lot easier to digest. But the Fall and Heaven, on the other hand, were a different matter. True, Elysium 'existed', if that was the proper term, but that was a land originally reserved for heroes covered in glory and - usually - a lot of blood. She had read _The Odyssey_, and knew enough about the _Iliad _to know that if heroes ended up in Elysium it wasn't because they'd given out candy to kids or been merciful to their enemies.

Had Jack been lying about the Fall? Had Uranus originally been an angel? Did that make gods - and demigods by extension - some kind of... of nephilim?

She supposed the quickest way to find out would be to just ask a god. Sure, they weren't exactly great at regular contact, or very chatty the rare times they did appear, but they did pop up once in a while. Maybe Ven- _Aphrodite _would know; Piper had mentioned once how she was technically the eldest of the gods, being the result of Uranus' remains falling into the Cyprus sea.

Someone snatched a pair of cutters from the pot of tools in front of her, snapping her back to reality. Hazel jumped back as the someone in question proceeded to hack at some tentacular vines that had wrapped themselves around the torso of another student with great speed and urgency, causing such a commotion that several students backed away in alarm. The boy trying to cut loose the plant's victim, Hazel realised, was Harry Potter, and his poor friend who was starting to look like a mummy was Hermione Granger, recognisable by the long brown strands of frizzy hair sticking out of the green wrappings. Their ginger friend was helping them, pulling and hacking at the vines while cursing at the top of his voice.

The poor girl endured this for a few more moments, visibly trying not to panic - where the hell was Professor Sprout when you needed her? - before finally flinging out her arms on either side.

"Stop it!" she shouted, her voice muffled and breathless behind the coils around her face, which did not, thankfully, yet prevent her from breathing. "Are you two _wizards_, or not?"

The two boys locked gazes and shared a grin, like this was reminding them of another time gone by. The ginger-haired boy pulled out his wand and, apparently trying not to laugh, patted Hermione where her shoulder was supposed to be under all the plant material.

"We'll get you out of there Hermione," he said with barely a straight feature, "just '_try to relax'_, okay?"

Hermione made to kick him, but Ginger dodged, laughing in earnest now. Harry, to his credit, had not become so distracted, and though there was a big grin plastered across his own features, his wand was aimed steadily at the writhing mass of vines.

"_Relashio_," he said, giving his wand a flick.

Immediately, the vines started to loosen and slip off their victim, unravelling slowly and awkwardly so that it was still half a minute before Hermione could so much as wrench an arm out, but she was safe and sound, if a little dishevelled and more than a little miffed at Ginger, who was smirking as she stepped out of the messy pile.

"Not so easy keeping your cool when you're being strangled, is it?" he remarked.

Hermione settled for pointedly ignoring him and focusing instead on smoothing her hair and jumper while thanking Harry. Hazel could definitely sense some sort of history there.

"Ron, you are an insensitive twit whose misery loves company." she said finally, not even glancing at him.

Ron the ginger scoffed, but Sprout re-appeared before he could retort, an armful of different plants in her short arms and a couple balanced on her head.

"Right, you lot." she called out, bustling around the pile of vines left in Hermione's wake without so much as a twitch of surprise or concern, "End of lesson, see you next week and all that. Cheerio."

"Amazing," Frank muttered as he and Hazel followed the little trio back up the trail towards the castle, "someone nearly gets suffocated in her class, and not only does she not care, she acts like it's a daily occurrence."

Hazel gave him a wry smile. "It probably is," she remind him. "This is a school of magic, not Health and Safety."

They were about to enter the school through the door into the Great Hall, but before they could so, an annoyingly familiar voice rang out and made their little group stop in their tracks.

"Well, well, Potter, Weasel-extraordinaire and the mudblood," called out Draco Malfoy, bringing up the rear with his two huge goons flanking him on either side, "Out on the grounds at this hour, in broad daylight? Dumbledore's losing his touch, along with his marbles. Shouldn't he be keeping a closer eye on his favourite pet? People are going to think there's no truth to your claim that the Dark Lord's back, Potter."

Harry whipped around, already white-lipped and furious, his eyes cold and hard with rage. He made towards Malfoy, but Ron, Hazel and Hermione held him back, though she felt nothing but sympathy for the boy. She'd seen him lose his temper a couple of times since they'd known him, including the infamous episode with Umbridge, and it wasn't a pretty sight whether he won or lost his fights.

"Shut your mouth, Malfoy." Harry spat, not fighting against his friends' restraints but clearly still itching to punch the little blond jerk.

Malfoy raised a pale eyebrow.

"Mature." he said, glancing down and flicking off a speck of dirt from his sleeve, looking supremely bored. "Insults and violence. My, aren't we creative."

"_Pot. Kettle. Black_." Harry snarled.

Malfoy looked confused, and Hazel surmised he'd never heard the expression before, no doubt because it was muggle in origin.

"He means that you're one to talk, Malfoy." she spoke up. "Because you're usually the one to initiate with insults, the only difference being you send _these _two lumberjacks-" she jerked her chin at the two idiots at his side, "-to fight your battles."

"Yeah, how does it feel to hide behind your friends, ferret?" Ron taunted him. "First Daddy, then Crabbe and Goyle, no doubt in a few years it'll be You-Know-Who."

Malfoy's expression darkened, but when he spoke he ignored Ron and focused on Hazel instead, who had no trouble standing her ground and looking defiant. If only the little git knew how much worse she'd faced.

"So, she speaks," he drawled, "and the same language, no less. Tell me Conchita, do your little friends pay you well to speak up for them? Does this oaf even know how?" He gestured towards Frank without even glancing at him.

Hazel could hardly believe the nerve of this guy. She was so furious she couldn't speak, though she needn't have worried. Frank had his part covered. He advanced on Malfoy slowly, step by step, like a wolf measuring up how to dissect and strip a lamb for maximum tenderness.

"Oh, I know how." Frank said, his tone dangerously soft. "In fact I can do a lot of things, want me to show you?"

Crabbe and Goyle tensed and flexed their muscles, in a vaguely menacing way that suggested they'd done it plenty of times before, but had never actually had to go beyond that. Frank ignored them, and instead continued his slow path towards Malfoy as though they were ornamental bushes.

"Shouldn't we stop him?" Hermione whispered to Hazel, who shook her head. She knew her boyfriend well; enough to know that this was all for show - sort of. Worst case scenario, Malfoy would walk off a little shaken up, but having learned a lesson of gold: do _not _mess with Frank Zhang and his friends.

When Frank was within two feet of Malfoy, Goyle lunged first and swiped at the demigod's temple, but the taller boy had an advantage both in height, speed and experience. He ducked and swung his own arm back up to catch Goyle's at the back, before swinging him down like the mass of fatty muscle was no more than a rag doll, wrenching his arm back until the boy gave a groan of pain. Frank let go immediately, because he wasn't stupid enough to actually hurt Goyle, and because Crabbe was now lunging at him with both arms. The second swipe actually hit Frank's biceps, and a small smirk of triumph stretched Crabbe's brutish face, but it almost instantly morphed into a a grimace of pain as Frank kicked out his legs from under him and swung him down, first to the ground and then on top of his fellow bodyguard, at which both groaned in unison and made no further move to defend their master.

Malfoy, having retained all the arrogance and most of the smugness of his usual demeanour until three seconds ago, took a step back with a look of near terror on his pointed features. But Frank was too quick for him: he grabbed the front of the boy's robes, lugged him over to the castle wall and slammed him against it hard enough to knock the breath out of the cowering little _Junker_.

"Didn't your father ever teach you," Frank said, lifting the blond up a little higher until his feet no longer touched the floor, not even sounding out of breath, "a real man picks his fights?"

Malfoy gave a little squawk, at which Ron gave a bright laugh. Hazel felt Hermione hit his arm, but she was too focused on Frank and his little victim to pay much attention.

Frank shook Malfoy a little.

"Well?" he demanded. "Didn't he?"

Malfoy, still struggling feebly, finally mumbled something that could have been "might have mentioned it", and Frank gave a little smile.

"Okay, well I'm adding to it. _Do not_ go looking for fights you can't win on your own, but most importantly, _do not_ look for fights with things you don't understand. You got that?"

He gave Malfoy another little shake, and the boy frantically nodded, at which Frank dropped him. The boy crumpled to the ground, coughing and massaging his chest, muttering about "bloody Yanks" and "can't have a civilised conversation".

Frank laughed.

"Tell that to your pet gorillas. I'm sure they'll be plenty glad to fight me - for _you _\- next time."

"My father will hear of this." Malfoy croaked after them as they filed into the castle.

"Aw, no he won't, Chuckie." Hazel said, turning back and sidling up to the boy with a sweet smile and chucking his chin. "Cause, see, that's exactly what Frank just told you _not _to do: don't go fighting things you don't understand. You think your father will be pleased to hear that my boyfriend trussed his son up? No? Well let me tell you a little secret, Draco: neither will he be pleased about _you_, cowering away and letting your friends fight your own battles."

She got back to her feet and joined Frank, who put an arm around her waist. They walked inside the castle, pausing as Frank turned around one last time.

"Oh, and Malfoy? One more racist or bigoted word from you in her or my presence again and you'll end up more than a little winded." The warning was delivered with a warm smile and a wave, before Hazel concentrated on the iron and steel hinges of the great doors and brought them to a close with a wave of her hand.

She and Frank exchanged a look and grinned. There was always a warm feeling following the successful dealing of a bully, a certain sense of euphoria particular to defeating the bad for the good. There were so few of such simple instances since they had discovered that not all monsters were evil and not all demigods were good that they were precious and uplifting. Hazel doubted she'd even feel guilty about it. Saving the world did tend to put your moral priorities in order.

They turned around to see the Gryffindor trio gawking at them where they stood.

"Where'd you learn to fight like that?" Harry asked in awe.

"Mate, you bloody jumped Malfoy!" Ron exclaimed with glee.

"You can do wandless magic?" Hermione asked, with a little frown of disbelief.

Hazel grimaced inwardly, and tried not to look shifty.

"Um, yeah. Kind of my party trick," she said. "Learned it from my someone back home."

"But that's something only grown wizards can do," insisted Hermione, "I've only ever seen Snape and Professor Dumbledore do something like-"

"Hermione, who cares? It's cool, and way too brilliant to worry about." Ron said, still grinning like crazy. "And Harry's right. If there's one thing I want to know it's where'd you learn to fight like that, mate? That was incredible."

It was Frank's turn to look embarrassed now. He muttered something about quick reflexes, while Hazel looked on proudly.

"It's just... We could do with training like that." Harry said. He glanced at Hermione, something like an unspoken question in his gaze.

She seemed to get his meaning and frowned thoughtfully, glancing first at Hazel and then Frank.

"Well," she said, slowly like she was calculating what next to say, "it's true we're not going to learn much with Umbridge as our teacher..."

Hazel and Frank both snorted in a _tell me about it_ kind of way, though Hazel didn't think there was much of a chance of anyone learning anything with Umbridge, except perhaps how to despise pink and how not to wear cardigans.

Hermione was still appraising them carefully, then seemed to make up her mind and took a step forward, her hand outstretched and a smile on her face.

"I'm Hermione Granger. I know we've been in a few of the same classes, but I don't think we've been introduced."

"No, we haven't," Hazel said warmly, taking her hand and shaking it. "Hazel Levesque, and this is Frank Zhang."

"Ron Weasley," the red-haired boy said, shaking Frank's hand a little longer than was necessary. There was still glee in his features, and for a moment he looked eerily like his twin brothers. "And please, teach me how knock someone over like that any time."

Frank smiled, still embarrassed, but nodded and half shrugged.

"I'm Harry Potter," said Harry in a quiet voice.

"Yes," Hazel said, smiling, "we know who you are. And we know that you're telling the truth, no matter what Malfoy or the Ministry say."

"You're Percy's friends." Harry said

"Yep. Damn good ones, too." Frank said, suddenly a lot more comfortable now that the focus had shifted from him.

"Do you come from the same area, then?" Hermione asked, faithful to her inquisitive reputation.

"Not originally, but we went to the same school, yeah."

The lies and half-truths they'd been telling people in response to polite questions were now so numerous and happened so frequently that they rolled off the demigods' tongues like water off a duck. It was almost alarming how quickly they had all adapted to lying on a daily basis, though Hazel supposed it was only a step further from the previous lives they'd been living.

"Would you, um..." Hermione hesitated, glancing around furtively before resuming in quieter tones, "Would you like to meet us in Hogsmeade tomorrow?"

"Hogsmeade, the village? I thought it was out of bounds?" Hazel asked, confused.

"Tomorrow's an outing weekend." Hermione explained. "Students can go to visit, shop-"

"-drink." Ron interjected, winking.

"-explore,-

"-deal, gamble-"

"Ron, you're giving them the wrong idea!"

"Oh, like what you're doing is any better!" he retorted, though both were still talking quietly enough so as not be overheard.

Hazel was intrigued. She glanced at an equally curious Frank, and took a step closer to the trio.

"Hold on, what's this?"

Hermione looked at pains, and shot Ron an annoyed glance, but he just shrugged.

"Oh, come off it, you were going to ask them anyway."

"Ask us what?" Hazel repeated, sensing that something was definitely up.

"If you'd like to join us for a meeting where we'd be discussing ways in which we could train up without Umbridge knowing." Harry answered, clearly weary of his two friends' bickering.

Hermione turned on him.

"Shh! Not here!" she hissed, gesturing at the wide emptiness of the Great Hall which, while truly empty in terms of human population, was covered in magical portraits.

Harry shrugged and gestured for them to follow him into a narrow corridor, which if Hazel remembered correctly led to several cleaning rooms for Filch to store his equipment. It was darker, and colder, but the walls were bare and there was no-one to overhear.

"Hermione has this idea," Harry explained to the demigods once they'd all huddled inside, "Umbridge is deliberately not teaching us anything useful-"

"-and at a time when defence is so crucial-" Hermione interjected anxiously.

"-we figured we might be able to teach ourselves." Ron completed. He shifted a little awkwardly. "Well, sort of. See, we still need a teacher, and our options are kind of limited, what with the best being taken up in - _ow_!"

Hermione had kicked him in the shin - again - and was determinedly looking anywhere but at him.

"Anyway," she continued, "we can't teach ourselves per say, but we have the next best thing." She pointed at Harry.

Hazel and Frank looked at the boy in question, then at each other, then at Harry once more. The boy brought up his hands, his expression suddenly defensive.

"Hey, not my idea." he said. "It took weeks for Hermione to get me to even agree to _talk _tomorrow."

Frank looked sceptical.

"Hey man - look, no offence, but... I know you fought off Voldemort last summer-"

Ron gave a strangled squawk at the name and Hazel poked Frank in the ribs reproachfully. One thing Chiron had forgotten to tell them was the reaction that Voldemort's name elicited from those who heard it. There had already been two occasions on which either Percy or Thalia had forgotten this and either earned themselves unwarranted attention or several docked points.

"Oh, grow up Ron." Hermione said stuffily. "He's back. The fewer people are scared of his name, the stronger they'll be against him."

"Guys, look," Franks continued patiently, "That was a really cool thing to do Harry, and incredible considering he's the darkest wizard of all time and you're a kid, but... D'you really think that's enough to teach a bunch of kids how to do defence? I mean," he looked embarrassed again, "I've taught defence before. What you saw out there, I've been helping kids do the same kind of thing at our school. And it's not easy. Damn hard, actually. Are you sure you're up to the task?"

Harry gave him a small smile, neither warm nor cold nor unpleasant. If anything, he looked satisfied. He turned to Hermione.

"See?" he said, "That's exactly what I've been telling you. People don't want me teaching them. For most of them I'm a nutter, and for the rest I'm a kid."

"Hardly," Hermione huffed, "They just don't know what you're capable of."

She turned back to Frank and Hazel, her expression harder now, and her tone slightly testy when she spoke.

"For your information, Harry stopped Voldemort from getting his hands on the Philosopher's Stone when he was eleven after going through several life-threatening obstacles on the way there; he single-handedly saved Ron's little sister by killing a fifty-foot long basilisk; in his third year he fought off a hundred Dementors at once with a single spell; during the Tournament last year - for which he was three years under the legal age, might I add - he fought dragons, merfolk, Acromantula, and Voldemort himself. And just last summer, he saved his cousin's soul from a couple of rogue Dementors in broad daylight in a muggle street - an action that could have cost him his wand and his life at Hogwarts." she finished coldly. "So I rather think that if anyone's qualified to teach us about Defence Against the Dark Arts, it's him."

Stunned, Frank and Hazel exchanged looks.

"Well, uh... That - that never got to us in America." Frank said weakly. "Dragons; really? Damn."

"It was _a _dragon." Harry muttered. "And I didn't fight it, I just distracted it while I stole one of its eggs."

After another moment of stunned silence, Hazel clasped her hands together, smiling brightly to dispel any remaining cold undercurrents, and bounced up and down on the balls of her feet, noticing as she did so that even then she did not reach the heights of the people around her.

"Well, I don't know about you Frank, but I'm more than willing to give Mr Potter here a try." she beamed.

Frank nodded dumbly. Hazel almost cooed. The only time she'd ever seen him like that was when he had been confronted with true greatness, like when he'd been made centurion or when Leo had flown back to Camp Half-Blood safe and unharmed (though heartbroken at having failed to find Calypso).

"Great." Hermione said, sounding greatly relieved. "Shall we say... Ten? At the Hog's Head?"

"Sure." Hazel wondered if everything around here was named after wild pigs. Maybe it was a culture thing.

"Can we bring friends?" she asked.

The trio exchanged doubtful glances.

"Well... We'll be meeting other people who'd be interested in it too, so I suppose..." Hermione glanced at Harry.

The latter considered the matter for another moment before shrugging.

"Sure, as long as they're not likely to tell Umbridge, and they actually _want _to come and learn Defence from me."

Hazel smiled brightly.

"Oh, trust me," she assured him, "They'll want to, all right."

* * *

**PS: Psst! Does anyone else like Supernatural? I've just discovered it - well, relatively - and I'm so hooked I look like a Parma ham.**

**(Incidentally, it's also the main reason you've all had to be so patient.)**

**UPDATE: I got the sweetest fanfic-related surprise of my life the other day. A little girl - who I know in real life - reads some of my stories, and she drew me - wait for it - Percy with stick arms and legs, fighting off the giant squid. It's amazing! I don't have deviantart or twitter or anything, so I can't really show it off just yet, but I would like to officially declare a fan-art competition for those of you who like to draw stuff for stories they read. It's nothing compulsory or even very serious, but that drawing had my heart beating like a rabbit's, and I'm still grinning like an idiot while typing this. So if you feel at all inspired to sketch even an emoticon that is related to this story, please! Show it to me :)**

**Any typos, please point them out to me ;)**


	11. Ac Tuus Inimico Propior

**Chapter 11 - And Your Enemies Closer**

**Author's Note:**

**Oh, guys. Wow. Seriously.**

**Thanks for your reviews; honestly, they were so full of praise I'm feeling overwhelmed as I write this.**

**Aprille A.G, this chapter is dedicated to you, for pointing out that very important thing about Piper. Thank you!**

**Here you go, guys. Enjoy ;-)**

* * *

The most annoying thing about being left behind on a secret mission while your friends went to organise an equally secret resistance movement? Boredom.

Piper listlessly turned another page of the book she was reading, frowning and shifting in her seat as the flickering light of the fireplace failed to provide any suitable lighting. This was one of many long-standing problems of the Slytherin common room; poor lighting, poor heating, and poor company. Admittedly, in her armchair beside the fireplace it was all right: the fire kept her warm, the light was better than the green glowy lamp things around the rest of the room, and her own reputation as a Slytherin who hung out with non-Slytherins kept people she would rather avoid well away from her.

Having read the same sentence three times without any of it leaving a single ounce of meaning behind, she gave up, sighed, and dropped the book onto the coffee table next to her, hugging her knees and turning to stare into the crackling logs in the fireplace. The book was ancient and very dry anyway, like most tomes in Hogwarts, and written entirely in Ye Olde Englisch, which did not make it easy to read even with the added anti-dyslexia spells she'd cast on the pages.

Try as they might, the demigods had not yet found anything about Jack of Kent. He appeared to be completely absent in British mythology, let alone local lore - it was as though the man had invented himself for the sole purpose of saving them from the Nuckelavee. Maybe he had lied about his name? It was possible, she supposed for the umpteenth time, but why lie to the only people you'd talked to for decades? Surely he didn't think they were going to make the school prosecute him for trespassing on school grounds, because that was either the sign of a massive ego or complete paranoia.

Yet, there was something about him which made Piper almost certain he hadn't lied; about his name, about the origins of the gods, about anything. Having lived alongside immortals, ghosts, nymphs and other timeless creatures for over a year now, Piper had come to recognise and feel the auras of people around her. It was never obvious, and rarely remarkable, but an aura was always present about a person, and if you happened to be a god or a millenia-old creature, chances were your aura usually gave off a sense of power, knowledge and pride. Jack of Kent had had all of those.

No, Piper's gut was set and clenching firmly like it did when her instincts told her she was right. Even if Jack was lying about his name, there couldn't be that many guys in kilts, swinging their daisy-decorated maces around in Scotland anyway. They would get to the bottom of this eventually. It was all a matter of time.

Now the Nuckelavee, on the other hand, was another matter. Having taken out a stack of books each the other evening, the demigods had their own mini library to consult in their private common room, as much for homework as for their own research. Fortunately, one of the books they'd borrowed had - at last - contained some information about the mad centaur. It was a thin, worn-looking book. Its pages crackled with age and the entries were written by hand; it contained a list of mythological creatures born to the ancient isles of Albion (another name for Britain, they'd learned), from Celtic deities to the common English Shae.

The Nuckelavee, it had said, was an Orcadian horse-like demon similar to the devil in its malevolence. It was able to make crops sicken and die with a single breath, and was known in ancient times to cause many epidemics and blights. The most recent, the writer insisted, being the Irish Potato Blight of 1845-49.

Piper doubted that last bit. The blight had originally come from America, if she remembered her elementary history lessons correctly, and the disease had been so unfamiliar to the Irish crops that it caused over ninety percent of the potato yield to fail within a couple of years. Plus the Nuckelavee was apparently of Orcadian origin, meaning the Orkney islands and therefore Scottish. Mythical creatures tended to stay rooted to their land.

_Unless_, a little voice reminded her dryly, _you happen to be linked to modernity and follow civilisation around like a shadow. Ring any bells? The Greek gods and their retinue?_

Still, apparently Jack had done them all a massive favour by saving them from this agricultural hooligan. This creature was _seriously _bad news. Its only weakness to speak of was mentioned in a footnote on the same page of the book; apparently the creature was unable to stand fresh water, which was why its victims often had to run across a stream to escape. Of course if they'd known that _then_, the demigods could have run and jumped into the lake, giant squid or not. It was a wonder the school authorities hadn't noticed him yet. Maybe they couldn't see him, but they were bound to notice it if Professor Sprout's monthly crop of _fungus agaricus lunaris_ (moonshrooms, as Latin-intolerant students called them) failed time and again, surely?

Piper swung her legs over the arm of the chair and pushed herself deeper into the cushions, folding her arms and scowling at the fire, bored out of her mind by the monotonous research and the endless pile of homework they had to do. Chiron had done them the _kindness _of sending them to Hogwarts the very year things were picking up in difficulty, and it seemed wizarding teachers shared with their muggle counterparts the common sadistic pleasure of betting on how much work pressure students could deal with before they snapped.

It didn't improve her mood that her friends were out in Hogsmeade, either. Chiron had rapidly sent permission for them to attend via owl-post the previous day, and so this morning at breakfast Piper had said her goodbyes as the others prepared to leave.

It had been agreed the night beforehand that she would not go. Hazel had excitedly told them about the conversation she and Frank had had with Harry Potter and his friends. They were to meet them at a pub (whatever _that _was; Piper rather thought it was a kind of bar) and discuss ways to counter Umbridge's deliberately awful curriculum, namely forming a group.

Predictably, Percy had been unable to manifest any enthusiasm about joining a study group, until Thalia pointed out it was more like a sports club than anything else, since Defence was much more practical than Arithmancy or History of Magic. Annabeth looked like Christmas had come early, her eyes sparkling with the kind of mischief that was only usually prevalent in the Hermes cabin. Only Nico was truly reluctant to join the group, but Piper knew him better now than she had during the whole Gaea affair, and put it down to the shyness he was always trying to hide and not wanting to do stuff in front of people - _with _people.

After a few cajolements and much wheedling from Hazel, he agreed to go, but only if he got to stay quiet if he wanted to.

"I'm not saying any more than my name," he said shortly. "As soon as anyone asks what I think should be our motto, I'm out of there."

Piper also had been eager to see what Harry had to offer. She'd heard of his exploits before (mostly from scornful Slytherins, which made it easier to determine the truth than from, say, an awestruck Hufflepuff first-year) and was interested to see if his experience could bring a much-needed expertise they could all glean from.

But then Hazel, ever the practical one, had fixed Piper with a regretful look.

"I don't think you should go, Piper." she said carefully. "If you're planning on being Umbridge's spy, best not to be seen around Harry and his lot too much, if at all."

Piper frowned.

"What do you mean? If I'm gonna be a double agent I have to be seen on _both _camps, don't I?"

Hazel hesitated.

"Well... Yes, but-"

"Maybe it's best if you wait a little before joining whatever Harry's planning." Annabeth said. "If Umbridge suspects something's up and wants you to infiltrate the group, she'll take whatever you say to the letter when you bring reports back to her. Whereas if you join now, it'll really look like you're plotting against her if we get found out."

Piper scowled. She could see the reasoning around this, but that didn't mean she had to like it.

"But if I wait until _after _the group is created, won't that make her think I just _let _it happen?"

Leo shook his head, sticking his hands in his pockets and looking at her with a sympathetic expression on his usually mischievous features.

"Nah. You're not her spy just yet, Pipes; you're not even ours so far. Wait until you actually report something that turns out to be true - we'll plan something out later - and _then _tell her you suspect some students are mounting a resistance movement, at which point you can offer to spy on Harry for her."

"That ought to fool her just fine." Percy said happily. "A bee in a honey trap."

"An extremely stumpy, fat, horrible, sadistic bee," Leo muttered. "With pink stripes."

Piper glanced at each of her friends, knowing she had all but lost her ground. She knew her friends were right, but the idea of being left alone with her housemates for the whole day made her feel like her insides were made of lead.

"Fine," she agreed, her tone full of reluctance but sounding resigned. "But bring back something to cheer me up."

Hazel smiled and rubbed her arm. Her touch was warm and comforting, a welcome relief against the chilly air that penetrated even their remote little common room.

"Agreed." she said warmly. "I hear Honeydukes has the best chocolate in wizarding Britain."

"Buy me the whole stock." Piper said miserably, grabbing Jason's arm and wrapping it around her shoulders.

Her boyfriend held her close and kissed the top of her head, telling her it was going to be fine, that she didn't even have to leave their common room if she didn't want to, and that they'd all be back together before dinner. Piper let him talk, pressing her cheek against his chest and nodding along to the reassuring words, but she knew that wasn't going to happen. She had some business to attend to in Slytherin.

It had been an idea of hers from the very first week they had attended Hogwarts. She wasn't sure it was going to work, because Zeus knew how much she disliked being around the rest of her House, but she wasn't Aphrodite's daughter for nothing so it was worth a shot.

The idea had sparked during a History of Magic lesson, which quite apart from being the dullest hours Piper had ever spent in the company of a ghost - or indeed anyone at all - were impossible to concentrate on when one knew literally nothing about Magic save what Chiron had told them. Students in those lessons often occupied themselves by playing paper games, chatting very quietly with their neighbours, or simply catching up on some shut-eye.

Once, when Jason had spent a sleepless night beforehand (disruptive demigod dreams, Piper supposed) and laid down his head in his arms at her insistence, she had resorted to listening to the quiet conversations around her in order to tune out Professor Binns' droning voice. The two girls behind her, Slytherins in her own year, had been discussing one of the girls' latest love-life dramas.

"... been _trying _to get his attention, but it's just so hard, you know..." said the first girl.

"I know," the other had replied with a sigh, "he's nice, and really smart. He'd be a catch for you, but he's a _Ravenclaw_-"

At that, Piper had almost turned away in disgust. She hated the House rivalries. If your uniform was partly red, there was a chance you'd be tripped up at least once per corridor by green-trimmed feet, and if you happened to have yellow finish on your hood then there was just as much chance you would be jeered at and mocked for expressing worry or doubt. It almost bordered on racism, the way it was all based on colour - colours you couldn't _choose_.

But the first girl's gloomy response had piqued her interest, and sparked an idea that might just lead to greater general acceptance of Piper's Slytherin membership.

"Yeah," the first girl sighed, "it's not like a _Ravenclaw's _going to consider going out with an evil Slytherin bitch like me."

Her friend clucked sympathetically.

"Aw, cheer up," she said, with the sound of her nudging the girl's side, "At least it's not a Gryffindor, yeah?"

The other girl scoffed.

"Merlin, no. Most of them are idiots anyway, though I suppose a few aren't that bad... But still, they're more likely to throw Sprout's special Dungbomb compost at us than they are to say 'hello' back."

Her neighbour had agreed a little sadly, and the conversation left a deep impression on Piper, even leaving her a little troubled.

She had blindly assumed, much like everyone else, that Slytherins were happy playing the roles of tough, bullying jerks who only cared about themselves and their family's reputation. But then, what kind of bully was ever happy? And their worst traits weren't all that far off from those of some non-Slytherins she'd met so far. Gryffindors and Ravenclaws could be quite arrogant in their own way, she had learned, and everyone knew how touchy the Weasleys were about their family's social and financial status. There were some older Hufflepuffs who liked to exploit first-years as messengers and do-all helpers, under the pretence of teaching them the values of good old hard work and elbow grease.

The Slytherins definitely weren't the evil, lying, manipulative bastards everyone assumed, and though they occasionally lived up to their reputations of bullies, the other Houses were far from bully-free either. The pressure, Piper suddenly realised, of being a sneaky and cunning strategist - when you were still just a child, really - had to be _huge_. Maybe it had even reached the point where students actually felt _obliged _to be that way, because who would ever give them the chance to prove they weren't?

In deep thought, Piper had gone over and over the matter in her head, envisioning several scenarios where she tried to approach some of the girls in her House and make conversation if not quite openly propose friendship. Her imagined situations often ended up with the girls scorning her friendly attempts at acquaintanceship regardless of what she pictured as the circumstances and topics of conversation.

Still, she was Piper McLean, and she never gave up, especially without trying in the first place.

This was the thought Piper was determined to hold on to as she unfolded herself from her warm armchair and made her way over to a little homework table, where the two girls who had been having that fateful conversation were seated, talking quietly over parchment, ink bottles and several books.

"Excuse me," Piper said, feeling ridiculously nervous.

The girls looked up at her, identical expressions of formal blankness on their features with only a vague suggestion of attentiveness.

Piper steeled herself.

"Hi," she said with a smile as warm as she could make it. "I'm Piper."

"Yes," one of the girls said, her expression as politely empty as before. "We know. An American exchange student."

Piper nodded quickly, relieved at least that they hadn't - yet, at least - told her to sod off in the exquisitely-worded but unmistakably imperative fashion that many older Slytherins seemed to favour.

"Uh-huh. And, um... Who might you be?"

The girls exchanged a wary glance, and it was slightly longer than was conversationally acceptable before either one of them replied.

"I'm Calliope Hawthorne." the first one answered, almost reluctantly. She had dark hair, large brown eyes and fair skin. There wasn't much Piper could discern about her at the moment, except perhaps that she took a great deal of care about her appearance, giving her the air of someone about to attend a ball rather than school.

"And I'm Robyn Carey." said the other girl. She was perhaps more open-looking than her friend. Piper had noticed how she glanced at Calliope before answering both her questions. She had fair hair, a heart-shaped face and light brown eyes. She was the one who had been mooning over a Ravenclaw boy that day in September.

Piper nodded in greeting, and on impulse sat down cross-legged between the two girls and placed her elbows on the low tabletop.

"Would you believe this is the first time I've spoken to people of my own House in my own year?" she said conversationally.

Calliope and Robyn's demeanour changed slightly when Piper sat down, as though they hadn't envisaged the possibility of her settling down with them within two minutes of meeting them. Piper was certain she had broken some sort of formal code by doing so, but she couldn't bring herself to care. If her idea was going to work, soon it wouldn't matter anyway.

"Yes, actually," Calliope replied in a tone that was a little snippy. "I would."

Robyn's expression and slight tilt of her head made it clear she agreed with her friend. Piper frowned.

"Really, why's that?" she asked.

Calliope exchanged a glance with Robyn, and a smirk just barely stretched her perfectly made-up lips.

"Well, you haven't been exactly... _mingling _with us, have you?" she said, with a delicate hand gesture to illustrate her meaning.

Piper was taken aback a little.

"Well, I've... I've been adjusting, you know. Spending time with my friends, and all."

"Yes, there always is a certain comfort in sticking with what is... familiar to us," Calliope remarked rather blandly, turning back to her essay and writing down a few more words. Her face was still utterly blank, and Robyn was almost as cold in her attitude so far.

Piper couldn't understand what she was doing wrong. Sure, she knew she needed to be accepted, but she only wished someone could tell her what exactly about her needed to be judged and evaluated before that could happen.

"Wait..." she said slowly, realising something, "is that something that's not done here, having friends in other Houses?"

The two girls exchanged a glance like, _Does she really know nothing?_ Calliope did not answer immediately as she was pretending to re-read her last sentence, so Robyn spoke up.

"Of course not," she said, "there are plenty of us who have contacts in Ravenclaw. Some of us even have family relations in Gryffindor. I don't think anyone would admit to having a connection to Hufflepuff," she admitted, with a very slight smile that bordered on lukewarm - which Piper decided was an improvement on blank courtesy, "but this House isn't as isolated as everyone thinks."

Piper noted the conspicuous absence of the word 'friends' in the girl's little speech, but decided this was not the time to bring that up.

"So... What about couples, then? D'you guys have boyfriends who aren't in Slytherin?" she asked as innocently as possible.

Calliope gave Robyn a very quick and somewhat knowing glance, but Robyn, apart from looking a little uncomfortable, did not react otherwise.

"Not usually," Calliope said. "It has been known to happen, but usually between Slytherin boys and girls from other Houses."

"And not vice-versa?" Piper asked, genuinely curious now. "What would be so strange about Slytherin girls having boyfriends in other Houses?"

Robyn's carefully blank expression slipped just a little, until it turned almost sad, and Calliope threw her a sympathetic look before turning back to glare at Piper, her gaze cold and impudent.

"You're asking a lot of questions," she remarked coolly.

Piper smiled weakly.

"Hey, it's me, I'm just trying to get to know things around here." she said. "Observation can only get you so far."

"Then how about asking your many friends in other Houses?" Calliope replied, her tone sharp. Her features twisted slightly with the merest suggestion of scorn. "I'm sure your Gryffindor loverboy will tell you all you need to know."

Piper raised an eyebrow.

"That's what this is about? Jason?"

Calliope's light snort and Robyn's crestfallen expression told her otherwise.

"No," Piper said slowly, "this is something else, isn't it?" She looked directly at Robyn, already fully aware of what was troubling the girl.

"You like someone, don't you? Someone who isn't a Slytherin?"

Robyn looked startled. She sent an anxious glance at her friend, who threw down her quill and scowled at Piper so fiercely she might have insulted the memory of Salazar himself.

"Who do you think you are?" she hissed. "Asking questions and expecting answers that have nothing to do with you. This isn't any of your damn business! Go, _now_, and leave us alone. Go find your Gryffindor boyfriend and _Hufflepuff _friends."

Piper stood her ground. She stared impassively at the indignant girl before her, wondering if she herself had ever been this obvious in her reactions. She didn't think so. Getting into trouble so often, and not to mention charmspeak, had greatly honed her ability to wriggle out of suspicion.

"You do realise you just gave the answer away, don't you?" she said just as coolly with raised eyebrows. She turned to Robyn. This time when she spoke she laid on a very slight edge of charmspeak to her voice, to get the worried girl to listen to her at least.

"You don't have to be afraid of me," she said gently. "I won't tell if you don't want me to, that's a promise. All I want you to know is that I can help. I have friends in Ravenclaw, and I'm a bit of an expert in relationship matters myself," she smiled sheepishly and half shrugged. She herself never really felt like it was true, but life seemed to say otherwise and now was not the time for modesty. "Not that I can make love potions or anything, but I can get in a word sideways if you like."

"She doesn't need your help." Calliope snapped before Robyn could answer.

Piper ignored her. The blonde girl's eyes were fixed on Piper alone, spellbound by her fascinating voice and earnest expression.

"Robyn?" Piper pressed, still very gentle. "This is your decision."

Robyn licked her dry lips.

"I..." she started.

"This is ridiculous." Calliope snapped again, shutting her book as loudly as she could and getting to her feet. She held out her hand for Robyn to take, all the while glaring at Piper.

"I don't know what she's trying to do, Robyn, but can't you see she's trying to get to you?" she pleaded, "We met her five minutes ago, and now she's offering to be your agony aunt and a shoulder to cry on. She couldn't be more obvious if she were a _Hufflepuff,_" she spat, tugging her friend's hand and dragging her up to her feet.

Piper met her furious gaze steadily. Calliope's dark eyes narrowed in anger and deepening suspicion.

"What are you trying to get out of this?" she asked angrily.

"I'm only trying to help. I want to fit in and find out more about how this place works." Piper answered, calm despite the sinking feeling in her heart.

Calliope tilted her head to the side, considering the demigod in front of her for a moment before smiling suddenly. The smile was bitter and humourless and full of hidden meaning.

"You know what? I believe you," she said simply, no longer sounding angry, just scornful. She started to march away with Robyn in tow, calling back over her shoulder, "If you did know how things worked around here, you'd know there's no such thing as a free favour in Slytherin. Learn that, and you might just start to understand who we are."

Piper sat, still as a statue and quite numb. She barely managed a smile as Robyn's anxious and desperate face turned around one last time to look at her. Their gazes locked, and Piper knew at once what the girl wanted to say but could not. It could hardly be clearer. _Yes_, she was shouting, _yes!_

But could Piper help her with such a Fury in the way?

0o0o0o0o0o0o

By the time the sun had set and the street-lamps had started glowing in the windswept and leaf-strewn streets of Hogsmeade, most students had returned to Hogwarts. The bitter wind did little to persuade the remaining few to return to the school quite just yet, elated as they were to be free of studying, the constant presence of teachers and ghosts with no notions of personal space.

The meeting had gone well. Percy was pleased the kids here had enough initiative to start this sort of thing on their own, and Harry had seemed astounded that so many people were apparently considering learning Defence from him. Percy couldn't see why he put such little faith in himself; the kid was a _legend_, of course people were going to queue up for a chance to get closer to him. Maybe the tabloids were giving him a bit of a rough time at the moment, but if celebrity culture in the wizarding world was anything like the one in Hollywood, then people - by default of being people - would never miss the chance of sidling up to a hero just to hear his side of the story, or for the kicks, or - gods help them all - a selfie. Percy shuddered. After all, that was how the ruthless world of the media worked. Set up one side against the other, each time for a higher price and bigger profits until one of them either ended up broke or completely destroyed. Percy made a mental note to warn Harry of any rival newspapers looking for newer, more exciting things to say. If the guy latched on to the first self-interested people who wanted to tell his side of the facts there was gonna be hell to pay.

In total, there had been about thirty hopeful individuals to answer Hermione's call. For the demigods it turned out to be an excellent opportunity to visually meet students who thought of Harry and Voldemort along the same lines as they did, and make a note of who actually believed Harry and who was there mainly out of morbid curiosity; 'morbid' for it was only during those awkward moments that Percy's friends - though not Percy himself - learned of Cedric Diggory's rumour-clouded death.

The Weasley twins, Percy thought, would be useful contacts in the future. Those two were resourceful, and it showed. Percy had never seen anyone so readily pull out otherworldly or downright worrying gadgets from their pockets whether in the name of fun or serious business. Not even the Stoll brothers had been quite so imaginative, sticking to classic jokes and pranks over magically-enhanced practical stunts. The Weasley twins brought humorous creativity to a whole new level.

The Hufflepuff girl, Susan Bones, could also be potentially useful, apparently having relations in the Ministry. Annabeth nodded when he whispered to her and quietly added the Weasleys, Terry Boot and Marietta Edgcombe to that list for the same reasons. Percy didn't even bother wondering how Annabeth knew that. His girlfriend was amazing.

The Hufflepuff guy, Zachasomething Smith or whatever his name was, seemed a bit of a jerk - for a Hufflepuff (who were usually overwhelmingly nice) - and so Percy didn't give him a second thought, but he did notice Annabeth considering him thoughtfully with the usual expression that meant she was thinking very carefully. He hoped it had something to do with shutting him up on a permanent basis, because he wasn't sure how many more snide comments the guy could make before either he (Percy), Nico or Leo lost their tempers and blew their covers.

There was also the matter of Annabeth's friend, Marius Fell. Well, 'friend' was in a manner of speaking. Percy had never met or spoken to the guy before, but apparently Annabeth had been hanging around the Ravenclaw common room one day and overheard Marius say, with all the serious aplomb of a Ravenclaw breaching the subject of studies, that if Dumbledore did not do anything abut the appalling way things were spiralling downwards with Umbridge in charge, he personally would resort to illegal means. According to Annabeth, Marius was not of the joking or speak-first-think-later type, and so she'd thought it appropriate to bring him along to Harry's meeting. Percy wasn't quite sure what to make of the guy yet. One thing he knew, without a doubt, was that in any American high school cafeteria this guy would be stuck with the nerdy kids, the serious would-be politicians kids, or just plain alone to better think out his plan to overtake the world with the aid of robotic minions and lots of Earl Grey tea.

The guy wasn't bad-looking, he supposed, but his pale blue eyes that bordered on icy and extremely fair skin rather gave the impression he lived locked in a dungeon, surviving on ginger infusions and cucumber sandwiches (which were apparently a thing, because Britain). So far, the most remarkable things about Marius Fell were his thick mop of black curls that looked like a girl's ideal bob-cut no matter how many times he nervously ran his hands through it, an obsession with inventing his own spells, and the seemingly uncontrollable and impulsive habit of inserting obscure Latin phrases in his speech whenever he opened his mouth. A bit of an erudite, Annabeth had informed them quietly while Marius examined the finer techniques of the barman's glass-wiping with open fascination, but harmless and very handy to have near you if you needed a quick brush-up on core spell-making.

Some time later, while going over the meeting in his head, Percy wondered how long it had been since he had started considering people and analysing them for their potential usefulness to them. The old Percy would have whispered sarcastic remarks into Annabeth's ear, or snicker a little at the ridiculous jumpers some people were wearing, not sizing them up for their importance in the future. The thought disturbed him, because it wasn't clear to him if he was simply growing up, or becoming more like Annabeth and her siblings by planning every step and considering every option before making a decision. Gods knew how half his heroic escapades were based on pure luck or the enemy's utter stupidity.

For his part, Harry had handled the whole thing pretty well, though at his stubborn refusal to speak of anything concerning Cedric or the night of Voldemort's return, Annabeth had shaken her head very slightly and tutted under her breath. Later, she explained to Percy how selfish Harry was coming across to other students. He didn't mean to of course, but it was clear - just not to Harry - that Cedric's housemates were desperate for the truth on how their friend died, and all they were seeing was the sole witness of his murder refusing to give any detail or satisfactory explanation for the tragedy. While it was Harry's way of dealing with the grief and the guilt, Annabeth explained, it was also easy to see why the newspapers were accusing him of lying and even - it was whispered in the corridors - that he had been involved in the murder himself.

Still, the whole Cedric issue had quickly been put aside to cover the much more urgent and pressing matter at hand: forming a group to practise defence secretly and efficiently. Not only was this exactly what the demigods considered a viable beginning for a course of action against Voldemort, it was a great way of getting to know everyone better, establish contacts and learn more magic without looking like idiots.

Once matters had been settled and Harry had said what he had to say, Hermione pulled out a paper and suggested in a very commanding way that they all sign it. Supposedly to keep a record, but it was implicitly clear that it was also so that nobody could back out or deny involvement in future.

"The list's a good ol' round robin, sure enough," Leo muttered to Percy and Annabeth as everyone got up to sign the paper, the clatter of scraping chairs and picking up of bags keeping their exchange private, "but that girl's smart. I'll bet you a popcorn grenade that she's got some nasty little alarm-curse rigged into that paper to stop anyone from tattling."

"Is that legal?" Annabeth whispered back.

Percy laughed.

"The Ministry's made practicing magic in classrooms pretty much a crime, and here we are planning to do exactly that without _ministry approved_ supervision. _Yes_, it's illegal Annabeth, but who the freakin' hell cares?"

Annabeth smiled ruefully and hefted her bag higher up her shoulder, while Leo again returned to looking deep in thought. He was doing a lot of that lately, and making Percy wonder if Ravenclaw wasn't having too much of an influence on him. He swore the guy hadn't cracked more than a joke an hour for days, now. What was the world coming to if Leo Valdez stopped fooling around?

"I've got an idea," he told them quietly as the queue to the list gradually shortened. "Let's all sign the paper, and then tell Piper to tattle on us tonight."

Annabeth turned on him so sharply her bag whipped into Percy's side, winding him.

"What?" she hissed, as Percy winced and gasped for breath, "are you crazy, Leo? Then what was all that about leaving her out of the entire business until the right time?"

Leo looked at Annabeth as though he expected more of her and couldn't believe she thought so little of him.

"She _is _out of the entire business," he said quietly, "which means she doesn't have her name on the list to get caught, and she's also free to tell Umbridge about it without attracting suspicion."

"But why tell Umbridge at all?" Hazel's worried voice piped up as she appeared between Percy and Leo. "That's _asking _for trouble."

"Not if we're the ones planning it." Leo insisted. "Listen, Umbridge is a representative of the Ministry for a _reason_, no matter how much they might seem like a bunch of morons right now. If they're taking control of their only wizarding school worth speaking of, there's no way they're not going to notice a group of students widely defying their rules under their very noses. If we're going to be found out, might as well be _now_, under our own terms and when we're not yet properly formed. And if someone's going to tell Umbridge, let it be Piper so that she gains a whole lot of credibility, and maybe even some trust."

His little tirade left the demigods speechless for a moment. Marius was signing the parchment, and there were only three people left in the queue in front of them now, so whatever they decided it had to be quick. Thalia spoke first.

"I think he's right." she said, blunt as usual.

"But what if Umbridge does put a stop to it?" Hazel asked.

"Then we'll not only be secret, we'll go underground." Leo supplied calmly.

"It's not risk-free," Annabeth worried, chewing her lip.

"When is anything ever?" Jason put in quietly. "I say we do it, though Piper's gonna wonder what the hell you're playing at."

Frank and Nico nodded their agreement, and Leo spent the next two minutes whispering with Hermione. The girl frowned as Leo put their idea to her. At first she looked angry bordering on betrayed, but within a moment later the frown had turned thoughtful, and at last she nodded before shaking Leo's hand. She glanced at the group of demigods who were waiting for Hazel and Frank to sign their names, and quickly walked over to them.

"Leo's explained your idea." she said without preamble. "It's quite clever. I had thought of something similar, but couldn't think of anyone who'd agree to play double-agent between us and Umbridge." She looked at each of them in turn, her expression very solemn and serious, as though she was addressing a suicide mission rather than a strategic move. "Are you sure you want to go through with this?"

"Absolutely." Leo said, in a tone which to the eavesdropper sounded positively breezy, but which his friends recognised of having the steely undertones of the incredible determination he was capable of.

Hermione nodded, but her features did not let go of their worried expression.

"But have you thought of the consequences for Piper? Not just about Umbridge, but did you think about what might happen to her socially if it's discovered she was the one to sell us out?" Her gaze turned soft and sympathetic. "I know you'll protect her as much as you can, but she's in for a tough time if anyone in our group discovers her role in this."

The demigods exchanged glances. Percy felt a little guilty himself. He hadn't entirely thought of that side of affairs before agreeing to it, but seeing the expressions on his friends' faces, he knew they were all of one mind. Even Jason was looking grimly decided, and everyone knew he would never intentionally make Piper miserable or put her in harm's way.

"Then we'll just have to make sure she doesn't get found out." Leo said firmly. "We can come out and tell everyone about it once meetings have started, but until then lets keep it a secret. She'll be the Defence group's double-agent when the time comes, but for the time being she's our spy, _our _friend, and our responsibility."

Hermione nodded seriously. She smiled, a little grimly and with an edge of tiredness to it, but it was clear she was pleased with their decision and the overall outcome of the day.

After emerging from the Hog's Head pleased and excited at the results of the meeting (poor Harry had been almost grey by the end), the demigods said goodbye to Marius - much to their relief, since although the guy was nice enough, talking to him was like having a conversation in English with Siri, set on Latin. They spent their time exploring the village. It was something of a curiosity to them, since they had never seen a wizarding building apart from the school itself - which, while magnificent in an austere and wonderfully complicated kind of way, probably did not reflect the average living standards of a wizarding family.

Hogsmeade proved to be a very pretty, quaint little village. Very much the post-card type setting, in fact. Percy was surprised places like this still existed; he doubted the place would even have telephones if it were non-magical. The cramped and crooked cottages were charming in their old-fashioned way, and though he was no expert at architecture like his girlfriend, he could see that managing to keep the houses standing was probably a major achievement in and of itself. The house at the end of the single street with all the shops even made him suspect the involvement of magic in the conservation of the building; there was no way that a wall _that _bent and crushed by thatching could stand without some sort of supernatural aid.

There was much to see despite the limited size of the village. Leo looked like Christmas had come early when they entered Zonko's, and it took fifteen minutes of wheedling, a promise that they would return soon and Frank's burly arms to drag him out again. That was not to say he left empty-handed; the demigods had found a way to cunningly transfigure gold drachma to resemble wizarding galleons, and so financial transactions were not difficult to lead. The coins probably would not fool any goblin's scrutiny, but gold was gold after all, and the shopkeepers of Hogsmeade did not seem to notice any peculiarity about the coins.

Thus, Leo lost no time at all in purchasing about a third of Zonko's stock and placing orders for currently unavailable items. Despite it being a joke shop, the place had remarkable variety of gadgets - curiously a mixture of both muggle and wizarding in nature - for which Percy would wager Riptide the CIA would defect from the States. Leo shoved half of what he bought into his tool-belt (as he did so he hid behind Frank's big frame, which it turned out had uses other than to intimidate scrawny Slytherins and make Hazel smirk when girls blushed), stuffed another quarter into extendible-space carrier bags, and paid extra for the rest to be delivered by owl mail. Chiron had promised them as much money as they requested, so Percy guessed Leo was using that to the best of advantages - though the purchase of fifty quills that only wrote in colour-changing sparkly ink was a little lost, even on him.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Minerva McGonagall strode briskly through the for-once empty corridors of Hogwarts. There was a reason Hogsmeade weekend tended to happen at regular intervals, usually at midpoint between half-terms and major holidays. It was so that teachers could find the time to organise staff meetings and discuss whichever issues needed dealing with. Incidentally, under Dumbledore when all the administration was done either by her or his extraordinarily productive self, these meeting often degenerated into gossip sessions between teachers, so restricted was the time they spent all together due to erratic teaching schedules and homework-marking overload. Minerva usually disapproved of such unprofessional behaviour, but today she was fervently wishing it would be the case, since their beloved High Inquisitor wished to address them on several issues, which could either mean utter boredom or a titanic shouting match.

Personally, she hoped for the latter. Merlin knew she could do with telling that woman exactly what she thought of her and what she could do with her ministerial decrees.

Finally arriving at the staff room, Minerva pulled open the door and scuttled in as quietly as she could. She wasn't late, exactly - she was never _late _\- but there was a sullen kind of silence in the room as she entered, and she was loath to disturb it, especially since the tangible hostility was directed at the very person she'd been thinking about, and so Minerva would be the very last person to interrupt that happy incidence.

Dolores Umbridge seemed to be completely unaware of her colleagues' dark and sceptical gazes as she strutted in front of the main table, while Minerva took a seat between Severus Snape and Filius Flitwick. She was flicking through notes on her pink fluffy clipboard, ticking various things off with her curly-ended quill and muttering small exclamations to herself as she went, an incredulous eyebrow raising delicately as she peeked through the next few pages.

"Ah, now that won't do at _all_... Really ought to rectify that - perhaps if Cornelius... Goodness me, what a mess! Does Dumbledore really know _nothing _about running a school?"

It was probably meant to be private, but everyone was clearly listening and hearing every word. Dark glances were once more exchanged, though again Umbridge did not notice.

When Professor Sinistra had settled herself and her long swishy silver robes on a chair in the remotest corner, Umbridge glanced up from her clipboard and gave them all a wide smile.

"Well, I suppose you must all be wondering why I summoned you here," she said with a little breathy sound that was so unlike a human laugh Minerva wondered if she did it on purpose to sound original.

"Oh, we're positively _humming _with excitement at learning that, Professor," Snape said in his usual acid tones. Luckily for him, everyone was far too used to his manner to worry about him suffering the consequences. Even Umbridge wasn't stupid enough to get on his bad side.

"I must say, we've started a fair bit later than I thought we would. We're going to have to be a lot more punctual than this in the future," Umbridge said with another bright smile, wagging an admonishing finger at them as they stared back with various degrees of murderous intent on their faces, then trotting over to the blackboard near the fireplace, pulling out her wand as she went.

"Now, we've come up with a little plan for the school, Cornelius and I - oh sorry, I do mean the _Minister_ and I," she trilled with a little laugh, "I quite forget to refer to him by his title, you know, we're so close these days -"

Silence.

Umbridge cleared her throat.

"Well, we've devised a plan of action for the future of the school. Firstly, we must examine the current style of teaching. I understand we each have out little quirks and methods, but really this is the education of our children we're talking about here-"

'_Our children?'_ Hah! It _would _be the only time she could ever say that, Minerva thought rather spitefully, considering no man in his right mind would even _dream _of-

_Hush_, the sensible part of her whispered.

"- so we really rather think that a more..." Umbridge wiggled a stubby hand in the air, as though trying to catch the right word like she would a fruit-fly, "... _structured _approach would be best. The Ministry is of the opinion that such a change of method can only truly occur if the right kind of training is provided, so we are prepared to organise seminars over the summer to gear you all up for next year-"

Minerva nearly groaned. The bloody woman had been hinting at this for weeks now, and here was the final result! As if teaching the rest of the year wasn't enough, now they would have to endure the patronising humiliations of teacher-training and enrichment activities in the hot months of the summer, led by ministry officials who had seven degrees and a dozen awards but zero practical experience, let alone originality or charisma.

If only Dumbledore was able to do something about this...

Then again, her faith in Dumbledore had lessened somewhat of late. Ever since his cool revelation to her that the Potter boy was destined to defeat Voldemort or die trying, Minerva had found herself unable to look or even think of him the same way. This was the man who offered sherbet lemons to anything with taste-buds, for goodness' sake! He collected little muggle toy cars and drank blackberry tea from his favourite Tigger mug, yet all the while plotted the future of one of her mediocre teenaged students and expected others to see it his way.

And then there was the matter of him refusing to relinquish any information or private thoughts on those strange American students...

For the thousandth time that term, Minerva McGonagall found herself wishing she could read minds. There was something about those children that she simply could not fathom. They talked, worked and messed around like any other group of youngsters their age, yet when customary inter-house insults flew the wrong way, or an argument broke out amongst themselves, Minerva swore she could almost _feel _the tension coming from them. As sort of power, intangible and yet _there_, strong and magnetic, almost electric at times.

Even their eyes held stirrings and shadows of that power, whatever it was. The McLean girl had astonishing eyes, and once you held her gaze it was almost impossible to look away, so fascinating were the colours and shifting moods behind them. She'd never really believed or paid attention to the phrase "a person's eyes are windows to their soul", but ever since that September afternoon she'd had cause to rethink that. Once, Minerva had lost track of what the girl had been talking about, unable to do anything but stare and listen to the girl's smooth, polite voice. She remembered giving her and the Grace girl an extra week to complete their essays on Vanishing vertebrates, which was odd, considering she had never in her professional life conceded to such a demand. Despite the vague feeling of uncertainty however, Minerva felt no remorse for agreeing to do so. The girl had asked so _nicely_, after all.

Still, they worried her. Constantly. Sometimes they even kept her awake at night, tossing and turning her body in her bed as her mind did the same with the question of those strange students.

The fact that Dumbledore so clearly knew something about them was a dead giveaway. Something was up, but then she'd known that almost from the beginning.

The fact that Dumbledore was refusing to part with his thoughts, however, was an entirely different matter, and one which struck particularly close to Minerva's heart. It stung, she would admit to no-one but herself, that he deliberately chose not to confide in her, especially since he had given her no good reason for his discretion. In fact, that hurt had been enough to spur her on to do a little intriguing herself. The afternoon when Potter and the Jackson boy had come to her office at the same time after being dismissed from class, she had just emerged from yet another unsuccessful session of trying to wheedle information out of Albus. Frustrated, and feeling just a little bit reckless, she had deliberately let Jackson overhear her admonishment of Potter. Both boys were more important to the future than they seemed, she could feel it. If Jackson could figure out some of the slightly cryptic things they'd exchanged without her express intervention, then good for him and Dumbledore could eat his silly hats.

Of course, afterwards she'd felt ridden with guilt and shame. Openly discussing matters of war with one rebellious teenager and another as witness - what had she been _thinking_? Admittedly, she hadn't at all foreseen Potter's careless mention of the Order, but then she hadn't done anything since to reprimand him or provide a misleading explanation to Jackson to avoid him jumping to conclusions. In fact, she'd held back the boy, and as good as _told _him to look for hidden meanings!

Minerva shifted uneasily in her wooden seat as Umbridge prattled on, soon unable to find a comfortable pose without slouching or cutting off the blood circulation in her legs. Her mind was no less fidgety. She kept justifying her actions to herself, but the stabs of guilt and shame kept flying back, jabbing at where her arguments were weakest.

_So you outright _told _the boy that he'd been privy to important secret information, and all based on what? A _feeling_? Premonition? A sense of impending doom?_

Heavens, she was starting to sound like Trelawney!

Minerva was close to Dumbledore, she knew she was. At least, she used to think so, until September when everything had gone downhill with the twin arrivals of Umbridge and the Mythomagic students. So why was she feeling so cut up about one little mishap on her part? It wasn't as though _he'd _always been completely straight with her, or even that loyal, come to think of it. He'd always put the school before the people who ran it, and though the years of friendship had erased any career-related tensions between him and his staff, the man was still the shrewd genius who had as much of a life in outside politics and international relations as he did behind a desk here.

Maybe he didn't just trust her with that kind of information yet?... Dumbledore was a great man, and he had a past. He also had knowledge likely far beyond anyone in this century would come close to possessing, the exceptions possibly being the late Nicholas Flamel, and perhaps Tom Riddle. And there were some kinds of knowledge that only the best and certain types of minds could deal with. Circe knew she didn't want that kind of burden on her mind any more than she wanted to attend Umbridge's dratted seminars. But she was having trouble imagining what about that bunch of schoolchildren could be so dark, so unimaginably secret that he would not tell her about it. Were they refugees? Criminals, even? Were they perhaps relations of his, distant and lost over time but for the word of mouth and old family trees?

But no, that did not fit with what he had told her. That night a few weeks ago, when they had discussed the Potter boy's fate, he had been entirely too unsettled by his encounter with the Americans to have been able to fake it, and much too rattled by their complete lack of knowledge on how they got here in the first place. Dumbledore was a good liar, and rather worryingly good at manipulation, but he was by no means an exceptional actor. And that kind of emotional upheaval, of confusion, of agitation... _that _Minerva knew had been real. Somehow, Dumbledore was almost as thrown by these students as she was, even though he clearly knew something she didn't.

And that was the bit that she didn't understand and hated most: if he was as confused as everyone else, why not share his thoughts and pool their ideas together? Maybe involve their other colleagues - Hogwarts wasn't just run by Dumbledore and herself, Severus and Flitwick and Pomona had just as much right to know if something was fishy about some of their students.

Actually...

Minerva dithered for a while as the idea struck her, then nodded firmly to herself. She'd tolerated enough of Dumbledore's vague answers and deliberate shunning of her questions. Whether he had a plan for it all or not, she was not going to sit about, trusting blindly in him to sort out what was going on while she wallowed in confusion and ignorance. If he wanted to keep information from her and the others, so be it, but she was not about to go it alone.

She turned to Filius beside her, quickly and silently casting a Muffling Charm and Notice-Me-Not spell as she moved to avoid Umbridge's disapproving gaze and pursed lips.

"We need to talk." she whispered, then put up a hand up to stop him as he prepared to answer in surprise. "Not here; my office tonight. Tell Pomona."

Her tiny colleague peered up at her curiously, surprise still burning aflame in his eyes, but a small smile and the meerest suggestion of a wink told her that he was in.

She turned to her other side to relay the same message to Severus, but found him already staring at her intently, his black eyes boring into her own. She bristled internally. Those eyes had always been too dark for her liking. They had seen too much, and been blinded by so much more.

"Now what, my dear Professor McGonagall," he intoned almost inaudibly, "could possibly warrant a Perception Field under the very nose of our esteemed High Inquisitor?"

Minerva repeated to him what she'd told Filius, just as quietly but not quite to the same reaction.

Snape raised an eyebrow, turning his sallow face back towards Umbridge in case the Field weakened.

"Quite the secret operation, then." he murmured. "I assume this has something to do with the Ministry's new measures across the school system?"

Minerva shook her head slightly.

"Something else, more important."

Both of Snape's eyebrows rose now, and he turned his gaze back to meet hers.

"Indeed? Then you may count on my presence, and I hope you'll allow me to bring a concoction of my own making to the occasion. Merlin knows we could do with a stimulant after this-" he waved a pale hand in the direction of Umbridge waddling across the length of the blackboard and tripping over a discarded piece of chalk, "-utter travesty."

Minerva nodded, and graced him with a small smile. Snape received a lot of bad press from students and parents alike (especially since some young parents had once been his students too), but she'd always found a sardonic side to him, one she rather liked. He could be a sarcastic bastard most of the time, of course, but a highly intelligent one, and sometimes a conversation with him at the end of the day made up for enduring all the idiotic things to say her students came up with during lessons.

A couple of hours later, Minerva was back in her study, hurriedly tidying up all the stray bits of paper around her desk before her co Heads of Houses arrived. She did it manually, because paper-tidying was one of those things that waving a wand at actually left things worse than they had been. If she were being honest, she was also doing it to keep busy. She still had no idea how she was going to tell her colleagues about her suspicions. This was something that was not in any way helped by the fact that she barely knew _what _she suspected, or even if she suspected something at all or was just sensing that something was amiss. Either way, keeping her head clear for the moment was crucial. The words, she hoped, would come to her when the moment came.

A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Minerva went to answer it, and in swept Severus Snape, nodding cordially to her and producing a bottle from nowhere. He held it up as though it needed no introduction, and Minerva smiled and nodded in resignation, rubbing her forehead with the tips of her fingers.

Within another five minutes both Filius and Pomona had joined them, and they sat in a semicircle around her fireplace, Severus' mysterious bottle charmed to occasionally top up their small glasses. Minerva's fingers kept tightening around the stem of her glass and loosening again whenever she realised it. The drink was good; strong, rich in flavour and with a peculiar after-taste which Severus attributed to his own composition. It warmed her insides a little and gave her the confidence to gather her nerve while her colleagues supplied the small talk.

Even so, when the small chatter died down and they all looked at Minerva expectantly, she wasn't quite sure where to begin. Her hand in her lap flexed of its own accord, and she immediately scolded herself. For decades she had maintained the façade of the unflappable Transfiguration teacher for her students, and her colleagues had seldom had to see any other version of her. This was not the moment to lose control, and certainly not over a bunch of teenagers who seemed perfectly normal to apparently everyone but her.

Eventually, with another sip of her drink, Minerva opened her mouth and started to explain.

"You will recall, I am sure, of that morning in the summer when Sybill Trelawney made a prophecy?"

Filius nodded doubtfully, but Pomona snorted.

"Prophecy? Please, Minerva. It was all rubbish. She only ever does something like that to attract attention."

Minerva raised her glass at her colleague slightly, nodding but with a mask of grim resignation on her features.

"That, I admit, is what I myself would usually think. But Sybill is a creature of habit. She has a particular method for intimidating onlookers with her... skills. In sixteen years she has never changed her tone of voice, her posture, or the general theme of death to her antics. That morning she uttered a real prophecy, I'm sure of it."

She told them about the other prophecy Dumbledore had shown her using the Pensieve, how different the pattern of the words had been, and how utterly unlike Trelawney's usual ramblings about imminent death both prophecies had been.

"So, you see," Minerva concluded, taking another sip of her drink and starting to feel a little more in the swing of things, "I rather fancy that prophecy _was _real." Her eyes flicked towards Snape, who still had not uttered a word. "And I have reason to believe you do too, Severus."

The Potions Master said nothing, but the pensive scowl he was wearing as he swirled the contents of his glass was answer enough.

Pomona looked flabbergasted.

"You? But I would have thought you'd be the first to dismiss Sibyll as a fraud!"

Snape's mouth lifted minutely at the side.

"Oh, I have little patience for her antics, true enough. But no, I assure you I would be the very _last _to call her that." he said quietly.

Minerva was not entirely sure what he meant by that - she could only assume he'd seen Sybill make a real prophecy before - but decided against calling him out on it.

"Anyway," she resumed, "the reason I called you here tonight is that I believe the prophecy is starting - _has _started - to come true."

Pomona's eyebrows disappeared into her flyaway hair, while Filius and Severus looked expressionlessly down at their glasses. The Herbology teacher shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"Minerva, please don't take offence at this, but... are you sure you're not exaggerating a little bit?"

"How, pray tell?" Minerva asked, taking another sip. "_The Dark Lord, once vanquished, now come_. How many Dark Lords have come back in the last few months?"

Pomona hesitated.

"But... the prophecy said something about nine warriors working together to defeat You-Know-Who. And then it said the very fate of _magic _would hang in the balance, as if defeating the Dark Lord hadn't been enough."

"Again, all true." Minerva said tartly. "The fate of magic has been in question for centuries. Probably since it existed, in fact. Neither You-Know-Who's success nor his fall would not solve that issue. The prophecy says: __United, as one, Olympian, eagle, lion and snak____e |____Will decide for good or ill the magical fate____.__ I believe you are familiar with the political situation of the Separatist movement gaining ground."

"And whether that is a positive or negative omen for the fate of magic, alas, seems to be the question." Filius concluded, nodding in understanding.

"Eagle, Lion, Snake... I see Hufflepuffs are once again overlooked," Pomona grumbled, rolling her eyes.

Minerva bit her lip, about to say something to that, but Snape was leaning back in his chair, musing aloud.

"I wonder... Why mention only Gryffindors, Slytherins and Ravenclaws without including Hufflepuff? Historically when three Houses joined together it was Slytherin that was usually left out. Unless 'Olympian' is some sort of obscure reference to Hufflepuff...?" He looked questioningly at Pomona, who shrugged and shook her head in ignorance.

"Then it seems there is already an anomaly." Snape concluded. "Perhaps we should leave it be and watch as events unfold. If prophecies are to be believed, they will occur no matter what, and tend to mislead those who attempt to interpret it." he finished, somewhat darkly. Minerva could tell that personal experience was speaking here.

"Unless..." Filius said quietly, staring at his drink and very carefully tracing the rim of the glass, "Unless the eagle does not represent Ravenclaw."

Minerva felt her insides suddenly settle down. Since she'd heard the prophecy, a certain little idea had appeared in her mind and refused to let go. An idea so ludicrous, so far-fetched, she was almost ashamed to gave thought of it.

"Go on," Severus encouraged him, leaning forward.

Filius cleared his throat.

"The prophecy outlines the outcome of the coming war," he explained in his squeaky voice. "It seems to project little doubt on the eventual defeat of You-Know-You, but also, and perhaps most alarmingly, it foretells that the events of the coming years will determine what will be the outcome of magic itself. Clearly, I think the prophecy is drawing our attention to this matter above all. Now, logically," he continued, sitting up straighter as his colleagues gave him their undivided attention, "the animal symbolism towards the end of the verse points to the Hogwarts Houses, since the school is practically the centre of magical development in Britain. Eagle, Lion and Snake. Ravenclaw, Gryffindor and Slytherin. But add to that all the lore that has kept the school standing for a millennium and the yearly warnings of the Sorting Hat, and you can see we have an anomaly: why is Hufflepuff left out? All the stories of Hogwarts agree on one thing: that in order to overcome the greatest dangers, all four Houses must work in harmony.

"Now to promote the unity of three Houses, but not four, in the event of such a monumental occurrence as the turning point of magical history seems to me to be misleading. Which in turn leads me to believe that our interpretation of the symbolism is erroneous: if the lion and the snake truly represent Gryffindor and Slytherin, that can be seen as a simplification of the internal divisions at Hogwarts. I think we can agree that those two Houses are the ones who struggle most to settle their differences," Filius said with a chuckle and a raise of his glass to his colleagues, whose mouths twitched in agreement with him. "Anyhow, when one considers the pattern and overwhelmingly brief nature of a prophecy, it seems almost obvious that such a simplification is needed. Thus, we are left with two symbols: 'eagle' and 'Olympian'."

Minerva felt excitement starting to bubble away in her stomach. They were getting close, and Filius' brilliant powers of logic were taking them there.

"Perhaps you will consider me a fool to think of it," Filius conceded calmly, "but to me the word 'Olympian' immediately evokes the ancient people of the Greeks. They were the fathers of all European civilisation, great minds with phenomenal skills. Some scholars argue that the roots of magic lay in the extraordinarily fertile mentality of the Greeks. The summit, quite literally, of everything they knew and of everything they were, was the home of the Greek gods: Mount Olympus. It's inhabitants, as I'm sure you will have made the connection by now, are referred to as Olympians."

Silence greeted his words, for each of his three colleagues were being consumed by their own thoughts. Minerva was thanking Nimueh that someone else had expressed her thoughts for her; Severus, judging by his expression of rapt attention, was completely taken aback by this new approach to things but not at all objecting to it. Poor Pomona, ever the realist, was looking a little flustered and no doubt still having trouble accepting that they were taking the prophecy as fact.

"Now we are left with one symbol, the eagle. If a dimension like the Greek civilisation is being included in the prophecy, can another not be mentioned also? What of another ancient culture, one that usurped and crushed the Greeks, substituting their culture and beliefs for ones that were supposedly their own, but in reality were drawn from those which had already been present in the land for centuries before? A culture whose impact on our modern world was at least as large as the Greeks, whose armies conquered most of Europe, whose symbol was the eagle?"

"The Romans?" Pomona guessed, sounding so disbelieving she might as well have scoffed.

Filius made a non-committal sound and sipped his drink.

"Well, the idea is preposterous, as I said." he went on. "But I must admit I see no other reason why the other symbols leave out the badger, though I can only wonder as to the significance of Greeks and Romans in this matter."

"Agreed." Snape said, his chin resting on a fisted hand. "I fail to see what they can possibly have to do with the rise of the Dark Lord."

"Well, that's just it, Severus." Minerva reminded him gently. "This isn't just about You-Know-You returning. This is about the entire future of magic being decided, either during or after the entire saga."

Snape's dark eyes flicked towards her, sending Minerva back down Memory Lane with a jolt. It really was incredible how those eyes seemed to penetrate the mind.

"So for these Greek and Roman people, helping us defeat the Dark Lord is just a warm-up for the real thing?" Snape summed up, apparently unable to keep to the sarcasm from his words.

"Well, yes... If the prophecy is to be believed - which I am still far from sure about." Pomona said stubbornly. "There's just too much imagery in there, for Merlin's sake. Wasn't there a line about a storm... a stag, and a... a fire? I ask you! How is that supposed to mean anything? People do not represent weather or animals, nor vice-versa." She said, the very image of sensibility in her practical grey robes and prim posture in her chair.

"Well, that may be so, Pomona." Minerva conceded. "Especially as on most days I would agree with you, but I think as wizards and witches we must give ourselves over to the obvious: we already know we all have something of an animal within us - I myself have an alter-persona as a feline, after all - and our patronuses do give away certain aspects of our personalities."

Pomona looked stumped.

"Well... yes... but... To go so far as to specifically refer to people as animals in a prophecy, that's... that's like-"

"Like imitating the Oracle of Delphi itself." Filius completed quietly. "Which brings us back to Greeks."

Minerva suddenly remembered something that had struck her as peculiar about Trelawney's prophecy in August: could the difference in style from the one Albus had shown her be attributed to one being the work of a middle-aged woman who was mostly a fraud, and the other of an ancient, Greek oracle?

"You know, I think we may be on to something here..." she ventured, and proceeded to tell her colleagues about her sudden thought.

Snape's face remained as blank as it had been before, but both Filius and Pomona looked intrigued.

"You're saying that the Oracle of Delphi somehow influenced Sybill into making that prophecy?" Pomona clarified. "But how? The Oracle was crushed two thousand years ago; most of its legacy is so shrouded in myth even experts can't tell the difference between legend and the real thing!"

Minerva hesitated.

"I know it sounds unlikely, but..."

"Do you think there any links between the two prophecies?" Filius asked.

Minerva shook her head.

"They both make explicit references to You-Know-Who, and they were both uttered by the same person, but I think that's the extent of it."

"Though it increasingly appears as though they have had different authors." Snape mused. "Then again, in Divination, who's to say? It might be the Oracle of Delphi speaking, just as well as it might be this season's Falken Pixies mixing dewberries with mistletoe."

"I really hate Divination," Minerva muttered in her glass and a rare moment of unprofessionalism.

"What about the most immediate part of the prophecy?" Pomona pressed. "The one about You-Know-Who and the nine people who defeat him?"

Minerva froze midway from setting her glass back down. This was the moment. Oh, sweet Nimueh. Please let her colleagues not think of her as some paranoid old bat who took teenagers too seriously.

"Members of the Order perhaps?" Filius suggested. "Or maybe the symbolism in the verse represents different nations working together?"

"Mmm, maybe..." Snape said. "Though in total there are only seven significant magical governments in the world. The rest form communities and regional councils; hardly strong enough to get involved. And why should other nations meddle in British affairs? They never have done before, not even for Grindelwald - until Dumbledore challenged him."

"But there was a bit about 'crossing the sea', which definitely seems to point towards foreign help." Minerva pointed out, trying not to sound too obvious in her direction of thought.

"But the number seems strange." Filius said. "Why nine, precisely? It has little or no magical significance, and the prospect of only nine volunteers does not appear overwhelmingly reassuring, yet the prophecy is very precise on that matter."

Minerva's heart was thudding. Really, she thought, there's no reason for this. Calm down. Her heart proceeded to doing the exact opposite.

She set down her empty glass and braced her hands on her lap. She took a deep breath.

"Well," she said, "I rather thought this..."

She proceeded to tell them everything she had held back until then. The strange impression she had gotten from the American students from the moment she'd seen them - not to mention the bizarre circumstances of their arrival, which had left Dumbledore himself puzzled - the air of power that some of them displayed when tensions ran high in the classroom, seemingly without them noticing it; Dumbledore's refusal to broach the subject despite his near admittance of keeping something from her; his unusual leniency concerning the enrolment of these students into Hogwarts; and all the other little things she'd noticed over the weeks which just kept setting off tiny little alarm bells in her mind, coming back to her as the words tumbled out of her mouth. Odd words she could occasionally discern from their conversations; hushed voices when the rest of the student body was being as boisterous as possible; guarded answers as soon as anyone tried to dig into their background; careful, rehearsed replies from some that were almost word-to-word what the others had said.

As Minerva spoke, she felt the weight of weeks' worth of guilt in her chest gradually wobble, loosen and dissolve. Her colleagues were fixing her with the utmost attention, their faces serious and completely devoid of the humouring expression she'd been expecting. The longer she spoke, the more she realised she had been worrying for nothing: these people would no sooner laugh at her than set fire to their own brooms. They could - and probably would - express doubt, even disbelief, but Minerva was embarrassed that she had ever felt them capable of scorn. She trusted them, she realised, with much more than just her suspicions; she trusted them with her sanity.

At last, when Minerva ran out of words and fell silent, her colleagues' gazes left her face and exchanged looks she could not read.

"So... you believe that the nine people specifically referred to in the prophecy are the American students we took in last month?" Pomona Sprout clarified after a few moments' silence had passed.

"And that Albus is somehow holding out on us all on the matter?" Snape added, his face completely blank.

Minerva nodded tersely.

"That would suggest he either possesses the knowledge of exactly what is going on in the events foretold by the prophecy - which I very much doubt - or that he knows for certain that what you told us is true, or that he suspects as much." Snape concluded, still as expressionless.

Minerva's heart almost stopped. She felt breathless.

"You don't think I'm being ridiculous?"

Pomona's fleeting look of hesitation was quickly covered by her raising her glass to finish her drink, but both Filius and Snape kept their gazes steady and downcast, shaking their heads in silence.

"I knew there was something odd about them," the Potions Master murmured, "I just couldn't see _what_."

"There's nothing that's tangibly strange about them," Filius explained, nodding along to Snape's words, "but sometimes - as you said, Minerva - you get _impressions_ from them, like warmth from a fire or static before a storm. "

Pomona looked around at them all with a slight frown, but whether in bewilderment or disapproval, Minerva could not tell. The Herbology professor was a good woman and an old friend, but she could at times be extremely rooted in the real, nitty-gritty reality of the world and hopelessly out of her depth as soon as things got even slightly spiritual or mystic. Minerva sometimes thought that her friend forgot that they all lived in a _magical_ world, where things that were considered fairy tale-worthy by Muggles were as common as clouds in the sky here. She usually thought that she herself tried to live her life according to the same rules of common sense as her friend, but then things like prophecies happened and she simply could no longer ignore the fact that not everything in life could be explained, proven, deduced or solely drawn from hard facts. Her old Transfiguration mentors would have been driven to suicide had they heard her thoughts right then and now, but over the past few years - and the last few weeks especially - Minerva had been starting to accept that there were new dimensions to this old world she'd known all her life, ones she would never understand and was not quite sure she wanted to.

She hoped that her friend would find it in her to move past her comfort zone and provide support where her colleagues needed it; Merlin knew Minerva needed support at the moment, since she'd been afraid of losing her mind only minutes ago and was now one co-Head of House short of a full petition to present to Dumbledore.

At last, seeing Minerva's anxious face and her other colleagues' complete lack of opposition, Pomona Sprout pursed her lips a little and set down her glass.

"Well, I will say this. I have great respect for each of you, so while I have not yet had cause to find fault in those students - apart from the appalling lack of 'u's in their spelling - I will admit that there are rather a lot of coincidences in this whole affair." She frowned in thought. "The number nine, for instance. Their time of arrival. And the fact that they had to travel across an ocean to get here."

Minerva almost melted in relief, but controlled her reaction and settled for a nod, though every instinct was telling her to throw her arms around the Herbology professor and laugh at the wonderful realisation that she was not some sort of crazy paranoid pythia after all.

"My thoughts exactly," she murmured, gratefully taking another gulp out of Severus' concoction, the charmed bottle having tactfully filled her glass again.

Snape was now massaging his temples, eyes closed and an expression of pained concentration on his sallow features.

"I usually like puzzles," he grumbled, "but they don't normally involve dreadful poetry. So far, we've elucidated three things about the prophecy, possibly four. One, it's already started. Two, the Dark Lord rising isn't the last or the most important problem. Three, Greeks and Romans are, somehow, very probably central to upcoming events. And four, our nine saviours happen to be - once again - a group of bloody teenagers." He sneered a little. "Really seems to be a trend, doesn't it?"

"Half of them will be adults by the time summer rolls by," Minerva pointed out, though she knew what his reaction would be.

"An extra day and the lifting of the Trace overnight hardly makes a swaggering adolescent a responsible citizen, Minerva." Snape retorted, as Minerva had predicted. "As you well know."

"They seem uncommonly... ordinary, to be heroes." Professor Sprout ventured. "Are we sure we have the right lead?..."

Snape gave her a dry smile, while Minerva chuckled.

"Did you expect heroes nowadays to have long hair, leather sandals and oily muscles like the Ancient Greeks?" she teased, as Pomona blushed a little and shrugged.

"Besides, 'ordinary' is hardly the word I'd use to describe them," Flitwick remarked. "Perhaps you have less cause for conviction because you do not interact with them so much, Pomona, but I have found them far from 'ordinary' myself. One of my lessons in particular," he shuddered, apparently finding the memory disturbing, "gave me pause. The boy, Nico-"

"Di Angelo?" Snape interrupted, looking up sharply. "What about him?"

Flitwick looked uncomfortable.

"Well... There was an occurrence in the classroom which I never quite managed to explain." He appeared to pick his words very carefully. "Usually, students' pranks are very effective and occasionally brilliant, but one way or another one can usually find the method behind it. This one, on the other hand..."

"Yes?" prompted Minerva, who had not heard of this.

"There had been a couple of verbal altercations between Mr. Malfoy, Mr. di Angelo and his friends prior to the incident," Flitwick recalled, maintaining a professional tone to his words as though trying to tone down the incident, which only made Minerva all the more suspicious of its nature. "I paid it no heed, since they never go past the traditional heckling. But later in the lesson, Mr. Malfoy called Miss Levesque a particularly offensive name, which I believe caused Mr. di Angelo to rise up."

"They're siblings, I think." Snape interjected. "A couple of my students came to me about it, wondering if Miss Levesque's connections to Hufflepuff was enough to disqualify di Angelo as a Slytherin." His mouth twitched wryly, and Minerva was glad to see he found the memory as ridiculous as it was amusing.

"Well in any case, Mr. Di Angelo made no apparent move towards Mr. Malfoy, but a minute later the entire Slytherin side of the class was climbing all over the furniture to get away from mice."

"Mice?" Minerva repeated, having expected a better climax.

Flitwick nodded, looking grave.

"Little, dislocated, falling apart, _undead_ mice." he clarified. "Two of them."

His colleagues exchanged looks and raised eyebrows.

"Naturally I dismissed the prank as products of Zonko's," the Charms Professor continued, "but after examining the corpses I must say I am no longer so sure. Those were actual, _real_ mice corpses, who had been decomposing for weeks at least. I ran all the tests, I assure you they were genuine. And yet I saw them scurry around the classroom with my own eyes."

"Necromancy?" Snape suggested, with a slight note of disbelief to his voice.

Pomona scoffed. "At such a young age? Unlikely."

"But not unheard of." Minerva murmured.

A name was on the tip of her tongue just like everyone else in the room, but no-one spoke it, for even after all these years it carried fear and mystery that was not worth discovering.

"Well, whatever the case, the boy himself looked far from innocent during the matter." Flitwick said gravely. "I could see he was ready to laugh at his classmates for panicking at the sight of the two mice, and his two friends Levesque and Zhang did not look entirely clean of involvement either. Besides," he looked troubled, "there's something about the boy. Like he's seen a lot more than any child is supposed to."

"And power." Minerva added almost without thinking. She glanced nervously at Severus. She'd never find the nerve to tell him, but the resemblance she saw between him and the di Angelo boy was almost uncanny. Not physically, but their way of being; somehow they shared a manner of entirely concealing their thoughts and/or reactions from the world, yet Minerva had seen Snape completely lose control over his temper, and was ready to bet young Nico di Angelo would not be much different.

"It seems we are all agreed that these students are at least connected if not part of the prophecy," Snape concluded, oblivious to Minerva's inner thoughts. "Dare I assume they are connected to more than just the number 'nine'?"

"You mean are they connected to the Greek and Roman aspect? Do you know, I think they might be," Flitwick mused. "I remember now: the night of the Sorting, I overheard part of their conversation. They were commenting on Jason Grace's fluency in three languages. Upon questioning the boy, it was revealed that he spoke both Greek and Latin on top of English."

Minerva raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"Could the symbolism in the prophecy represent languages rather than civilisations, then?" Professor Sprout asked, sounding almost hopeful.

Filius considered the question, then shook his head.

"I don't think linguists would be of much help in a debate concerning the fate of magic, Pomona." he said, smiling a little. "Though I wish it were so."

"Then," Minerva concluded with an air of finality, "I believe we have reached an end to our conversation. I have shared my thoughts on the subject, and now that it seems we are of one mind on the subject, we appear to have a clear path in front of us. We must confront Albus about all this, no matter how elusive he may prove."

"Agreed." Filius said.

"Hear, hear." Pomona said primly, raising her glass at the others.

Snape nodded.

"And above all," Minerva said seriously, "the American students _cannot know anything about this_."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Piper dragged her feet along the long, dark corridor. If she'd been depressed before and after her conversation with Calliope and Robyn, she was feeling positively suicidal now.

Her friends had come back from Hogsmeade all flushed and and bright-eyed with exertion, excited to tell her all about the shops and the meeting with Harry and his friends. She'd been showered with sweets from Honeydukes, treated to Leo's full-blown and gleeful plans for everything he'd bought at Zonko's (most of them involving a shrieking Professor Umbridge), and smothered by Jason's arms from the moment they'd entered their little common room.

Thus, for a full hour she'd been warm, happy and munching on excellent chocolate in the company of her friends.

Then matters dampened.

She thought there had been something very slightly off about her friends as soon as she saw them again. They were smiling too much, and too brightly. She'd received hugs from all of them, even an awkward shoulder-pat from Nico, and they'd taken turns talking non-stop over dinner, as though making sure there were no spaces for her to ask too many questions.

At last, when she'd swallowed the last square of honeycomb chocolate of the bar Hazel had given her, she decided to pick at their weak front.

"Okay, what's going on?" she asked.

The chatter died down, until they were all looking at her. Annabeth, Jason and Percy looked a little guilty, and Leo looked excited while Hazel bit her lip, Frank frowned and both Thalia and Nico exchanged dark looks.

"What d'you mean?" Percy asked, trying to sound breezy but failing.

Piper crossed her arms.

"Oh, don't get me wrong. You've all been lovely and chatty and wonderful friends in general since you got back, but Leo's got that look in his eye, Annabeth looks like someone suggested she plagiarised her designs for Olympus on something by Picasso, and Percy looks about as comfortable as a fish out of water."

"An eel?" Percy suggested weakly. "They're amphibious."

She shot him a look, and he gulped.

"Okay," Annabeth relented, getting up and sitting back down next to Piper, her expression both guilty and sincere at once. "Leo's had an idea, and you probably won't like it."

"Correction," the boy in question said briskly. "You _definitely_ won't like it."

He briefly outlined what he and Hermione had agreed on while Piper listened in growing astonishment. She would, according to the plan, immediately go to Umbridge and anxiously confide in her that she felt her her friends were in the wrong by organising a study group without the High Inquisitor's permission.

When Leo fell silent, everyone was still staring at her, some anxiously and some doubtfully, as though gauging her imminent reaction. Piper, as it turned out, couldn't see why.

"Why is everyone looking at me like I might just die?" Piper asked, increasingly suspicious.

Annabeth sighed and ran a hand through her hair.

"Because," she said, "if it was discovered that you were the one to tattle, you would in effect become a Hogwarts social pariah."

"And if you're gonna do it, then to keep up the illusion you're going to have to be around your housemates a lot more," Leo added with a slightly guilty expression, "which we know you absolutely _love_."

The worst of it was, Piper could see the reasoning behind it. Tell on her friends while it was still safe to do it, gain Umbridge's trust, make way for a new, better, fully-organised study group to exist. Win-win.

Except she could, for all intents and purposes, lose her friends.

Jason, who had been bursting to talk for the past minute, finally grabbed her hand and fixed her with as urgent a stare as she'd ever seen on him.

"Listen, you don't have to do it," he urged, and the force of his tone told Piper he had just changed his mind on the matter, "one of us can, or Hermione can find someone else - you don't have to. I don't want you to suffer over something like this."

His concern made Piper smile, but she had to refuse him.

"Then what shall I suffer for?" she asked him gently. "What will be worth any of our suffering? We've been through some tough spots before, gods knows we have. This quest is just as important as defeating Gaea, and I will do what I have to do to help complete it."

Piper paused, then winced in disgust. "Ouch, that sounded _so_ Mary-Sue."

Leo laughed, then clapped his hands once and fixed her with his strangely lit eyes.

"But seriously, Pipes. Are you in?"

Piper sighed. Honestly, she could not see another way around it. This was a perfect opportunity to gain Umbridge's consideration if not her trust, and the only things at stake were her social standing and her reputation. The usual, really.

She smiled a little.

"On the condition that this stays _absolutely_ between us. While being unpopular certainly wouldn't be new for me, I have no desire to be shunned here as well. Besides," she grinned, "what's all this about me having to swap you guys for Slytherins? If Umbridge wants some fresh info on Harry and co, then as her agent I'm gonna have to stick to you like barnacles to a rock."

Jason smiled weakly and tightened his arms around her, while Annabeth laughed shakily.

"Well," she said, "let's hope Umbridge thinks that too."

And so Piper was making her way towards Umbridge's office, dragging her feet and taking her own sweet time to get there. Despite her earlier enthusiasm, the feeling of satisfaction at the fact that she was finally about to do something useful was wearing off, and the real risks were starting to emerge. If she got find out - not just by other students but by Umbridge herself - then the very secret of their identity as demigods was at stake, for the blasted woman was sure to dig records as deep as she could go, and Piper wasn't sure how far Chiron's administrative security went.

And if Umbridge did act on Piper's words, how far would she go to prevent any such groups from forming? And if this one event didn't gain Piper Umbridge's favour, would Leo's idea even work at all? What if she was too obvious in her actions? Was Umbridge smart enough to think a step ahead of her students?

The answer that came to mind was 'probably not', considering her tendency to treat anyone who was younger than her as a simple-minded four-year-old (on a good day), but Piper realised just how little they truly knew about the woman. She added Umbridge to the list of topics they had to research over the half-term holidays; as Annabeth kept reminding them, they were very far behind on their knowledge of the magical world, and she was drawing up a plan for their holiday research programme even as Piper reached Umbridge's door and stared morosely at the oak.

She wished she could turn back and leave the task to someone else. She wished Jason was with her. She wished she'd seen her father one last time before leaving Camp.

But she hadn't, and this was her task, not anyone else's. She was Piper McLean, and she would follow the duty her heart dictated to her until it stopped beating.

She raised her hand to knock on the door, and tapped three times. A moment later, Umbridge's soft voice called for her to come in.

"Good evening, Professor." Piper said, closing the door softly behind her and trying to imagine she was talking to Zeus himself so she could sound passably polite. "I'm sorry to disturb you at this hour, but I believe I have some information you'll want to know, about my friends. I'm concerned, you see."

There wasn't even any need for charmspeak. Dolores Umbridge's broad mouth stretched wide, and she held out her stubby, ring-studded hand with a simpering voice.

"Why don't you come in dear, and have a cup of tea?"

* * *

**Much love to you all x**


	12. Omnia Mutantur, Nihil Interit

**Chapter 12 - **

_BY ORDER OF THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS_

_All student organisations, societies, teams, groups and __cl__ubs are henceforth disbanded._

_An organisation, society, team, group or club is hereby defined as a regular meeting of three or more students._

_Permission to re-form may be sought from the High Inquisitor (Professor Umbridge)._

_No student organisation, society, team, group or club may exist without the knowledge and approval of the High Inquisitor._

_Any student found to have formed, or to belong to, an organisation, society, team, group or club that has not been approved by the High Inquisitor will be expelled._

_The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-four._

_Signed: Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor_

The official notice hung in every common room, on every classroom door, and on the massive walls that framed the doors of the Great Hall. When the demigods woke up the morning after that eventful day in Hogsmeade, there was even one attached to the door of their little common room. Besides the fact that it was pinned to the _inside _of the door - which suggested that someone had penetrated their sanctuary, unless one of the elves had brought it in - the demigods were more concerned with what it actually said.

Annabeth stood in her pyjamas and re-read the cursive text with a grimly satisfied expression. Well, nobody could say Umbridge wasn't proactive when it came to securing her grip on Hogwarts.

Still, there were a couple of things in the phrasing and presentation of the notice that made her frown in puzzlement.

Why hadn't Umbridge extended punishment to those who were specifically involved in the meeting? Piper had been gone a good half-hour, she was bound to have been pressed for names.

Annabeth rubbed her mussed hair, trying to think. It was seven in the morning, and her brain was still a little cloudy with sleep.

Oh, well. Maybe Umbridge was planning to dish out punishment at breakfast or during classes. Annabeth couldn't really bring herself to care. They hadn't, technically, been breaking the rules. Not a single one, Hermione had assured them. And if the witch still found an excuse to shove two and-a-half dozen specific students into detention for the same offence, there wasn't much she could do that would even convince the rest of the staff that she was right, let alone faze Annabeth and her friends.

Still, she ought to ask Piper exactly how the conversation had gone last night. Her friend had been too demoralised to spend more time with the others at her return, insisting instead that she had a headache and needed some sleep. It was so obvious that she was upset that no-one bothered to call her out on her lie, but that didn't stop Annabeth from worrying for the rest of the evening. Her concern increased when she herself went to bed a couple of hours later and softly called Piper's name to ask if she was okay. She had curled up in the foetal position, visibly tense under the sheets even in the shadows of their dormitory, her breathing irregular and a little shallow - clearly still awake - but she did not respond to her friend's concern.

Annabeth crept back into her silent, sleepy dormitory and padded across to Piper's bed. She waved and smiled tiredly at Hazel, who had just sat up and stretched only to immediately shiver and plunge back into the warmth of her blankets, her large golden eyes peeking over the top and crinkling at the corners as she smiled in return. She watched as Annabeth softly pulled back the draped curtains of Piper's bed and sat down on her friend's mattress. It seemed the daughter of Aphrodite had at last found comfort in the depths of oblivion sometime in the night, though clearly it had been far from restful: the blankets were twisted around Piper's slender form, with one pillow at her feet and another clutched in her arms as she still slept, her long brown hair hanging in strands down her back and in her face.

"Maybe we should let her sleep?" Hazel murmured from the bed next to her. "She looked exhausted yesterday."

Annabeth shook her head in regret.

"Umbridge left the school a little surprise this morning," she answered at the same volume, her sympathetic tone contrasting oddly with her stony expression. "Believe me, Piper can't afford to be late today."

Hazel groaned a little at the news and rolled out of bed, shivering again as her feet touched the floorboards. She started to gather her things for the bathroom while Annabeth watched their sleeping friend, wishing she could let her stay oblivious to real life for an hour or two more. The dormitory was unusually quiet, Thalia having gone out at a ridiculous hour, presumably to pursue the free-running routine she'd taken up to replace the intense cross-country habits of the Huntresses. She'd tried to get Annabeth to join her, but the daughter of Athena couldn't imagine anything worse than getting up in the dark to go running and somersaulting on grounds that were either muddy or stony, in weather that was very likely wet and windy.

After another minute or so, Piper stirred very slightly and clutched her pillow tighter, mumbling something unintelligible as she did so. Annabeth took the opportunity to reluctantly reach out and touch her shoulder, gently shaking it and calling Piper's name.

"Hey," she said, trying to sound bright and cheerful. "Wake up. It's breakfast time soon!"

Piper opened one bleary eye, spotted Annabeth and groaned, burying her face deeper in her bedding. Annabeth had to chuckle. For an Aphrodite kid, Piper really wasn't a morning person. Usually the goddess of love's cabin was abuzz at this hour, full of girls frantically exfoliating their faces and guys cursing as they searched for their hair gel.

"Wrong line, 'nabeth." Piper said in a voice that was husky with sleep. "M'not Percy."

"Fine. What about 'Jason tripped down the stairs and knocked his head'?"

Piper jerked awake, sitting up and sweeping the hair from her eyes.

"What!? Is he okay?"

Annabeth smirked, standing up and crossing her arms.

"He's fine, snoring like a babe."

Piper huffed, rubbing her eyes and shooting her friend a dirty look.

"Babies don't snore." she pointed out crossly.

Annabeth snorted. "You've clearly never had toddler twin brothers."

Piper considered that for a moment, then conceded the point with a nod and a yawn.

"Piper," Annabeth said, a little hesitantly after a moment, "we need to talk."

Piper looked up from undoing the previous day's braids, her expression still a little unfocused.

"Oh, yeah..." she said, her tone vague. "Umbridge, and stuff..."

Annabeth nodded regretfully, sitting down on Hazel's unmade bed and folding her legs under her - the floorboards really were quite chilly.

"How did it go? What exactly did you tell her?"

Piper shrugged, still concentrating on untangling the little braids and ducking her head as she tried to make out the knots in the darkness of the room. The rest of her hair swung down and hid her face as she did so, though Annabeth was sure it was at least partly deliberate. Piper was ashamed of something, she sensed.

"Told her what we agreed on." she said, after a few beats. "I said I was concerned that my friends were about to do something she would disapprove of. I said I was worried for their safety, and also that they were probably disobeying the Ministry."

"That's all?" Annabeth asked, searching what little she could see of her friend's face for any signs that she was keeping something back.

Piper nodded. She flipped the undone braids behind her and and looked up, meeting Annabeth's eyes. Her face was almost emotionless, and her gaze oddly closed off.

"Yes. I didn't need to say much - not even names. She got excited as soon as I said they were planning some sort of group. Apparently she'd been told about the exact same thing earlier that evening."

Annabeth startled. She hadn't expected that.

"Really? By _whom_?"

Piper made another shrug. "Someone called Willy Widdershins. I didn't get much else about him."

Annabeth's mind raced. _Widdershins_... Willy Widdershins... The name didn't sound like anyone she knew, though there was a certain familiarity to it she couldn't place. She'd heard it recently, she just couldn't think where. Annabeth didn't think it was one of their students - no one of that name had been on the list. Maybe one of their fellow conspirators confided in a friend who hadn't come and they sold them out? But the name didn't seem to fit in the context of Hogwarts that way... Perhaps a member of staff who worked part-time at Hogwarts and didn't come into contact with the demigods as much? But then how would they have heard about the meeting?

Hazel had emerged from the bathroom and was combing out her wet ringlets, wincing as the product she'd used failed to loosen all the knots her comb kept encountering.

"Widdershins?" she said, pulling the comb through her wet mane one last time and pulling a face at the little hairs she'd pulled out. "That sounds kinda familiar..." She tapped the comb to her chin, deep in thought. "Hang on, wasn't he in the news recently? Something about being caught for selling... stuff?"

Annabeth's head snapped up. That was it!

"Regurgitating toilets!" she cried in triumph.

Hazel and Piper looked at her like she'd lost her mind.

"What?" they said together.

Annabeth grinned.

"Willy Widdershins, a wizard who sold exploding toilets to unsuspecting Muggles. He was caught last week, but only because one of his creations backfired on him with really damaging chemicals. There was a little article in the _Prophet _about him because he had to be checked in to the wizarding hospital - Mangoes, or something. It said he couldn't be charged yet because his ability to speak was permanently threatened by the corroded skin around his throat."

"Then how could we have not noticed a guy with a face like marbled ice cream?" Hazel asked, frowning in confusion.

Annabeth thought back, trying to recall the surroundings of the meeting. The pub had been pretty grotty by their modern standards, though she supposed if was probably still adequate for people who lived as though they were still partly in the nineteenth century. The customers had been few, but creepy. A witch in a veil, two tall black guys with weird accents, the grumpy barkeeper, and a really disturbing kind of mummy.

Hang on...

"Remember that mummy guy at the bar who kept ordering drinks by slapping the bar?" Annabeth asked, still gazing at the floor as she concentrated on recalling the events.

Piper shrugged moodily, like _I dunno, do I?_ But Hazel nodded eagerly.

"Yes! D'you think-"

"That it was Willy Widdershins all bandaged up, trying to hide from the Ministry? Yeah, I do!"

Annabeth's heart rate had picked up. Okay, so they hadn't been told on by a fellow student, which was reassuring. On the other hand, it proved that Leo was right: no matter how moronic, the Ministry likely always had ways of knowing what was going on.

"Still," Annabeth said out loud. "That's good for us. You earned yourself a whole lot of credibility, Piper."

The girl shrugged, as if it were no big deal.

There was something distinctly off about her since she'd left for Umbridge's office the night before. Annabeth had never seen her so sullen before, she could feel something else was bothering her friend.

Annabeth waited for Hazel to finish getting dressed and leave before pressing Piper for details, in case the latter didn't want to talk to more than one person about whatever it was that got her so down in the dumps. It wasn't really fair on Hazel, who was as good a friend as could be, but sometimes things needed to come out just between two people before spreading.

Annabeth got up and sat next to Piper, not quite knowing how to approach the matter. After a few more seconds of silence and the girl still hadn't looked at Annabeth or gotten up to get dressed, Annabeth decided she'd rather try and possibly mess up rather than let her friend wallow in misery.

"Pipes, what's wrong?" she asked quietly.

Piper glanced at her, her expression indifferent, maybe too much so. She tried to smile a little, as though to shrug the question off.

"Oh, it's just this whole Umbridge thing. I really hate that woman. She keeps _living _kittens trapped in ceramic plates, did you know that?"

Annabeth did. She'd had to visit Umbridge's office once, to apologise for walking out of her classroom.

"But that's not the whole of it, is it?" she pressed. "You were fine with this yesterday; what's changed?"

Piper avoided her gaze, instead looking straight at the window, where the curtains were still drawn and only a slither of light managed to shine faintly through the gap. In the darkened room, still heavy with the fragrances of shampoo, sleep and rumpled bedding, that little beam of light was the only bright thing around. It seemed Piper did not have any other bright things to focus on at that moment.

"Nothing, really. Nothing we haven't already anticipated." she answered, at last.

Annabeth's concern grew even more.

"What did she do?" she asked, not meaning to sound so sharp, but the daughter of Aphrodite's utter apathy was more worrying to her than hysterics.

Piper, once again, did not answer for a few moments. Then she looked down at her knees and took a deep breath.

"She said... I was clearly very responsible to come and talk to her like that, and that she trusted she could count on me for any future developments."

Annabeth frowned. She didn't understand what was so demoralising about that.

"But that's what we wanted, isn't it? It's what we planned."

Piper snorted bitterly.

"Yeah," she said, a little hoarsely. "Except we didn't count on the fact that she'd be using blackmail to do it."

"What are you talking about?"

"The reason I didn't have to say any names," Piper answered, gulping a little, "is because Widdershins already did. She knows precisely who led it, and was able to guess many of the rest through Widdershins' descriptions."

Annabeth raised an eyebrow. "All of us? Just from having observed us for half an hour?"

"Widdershins is a con-artist." Piper reminded her quietly. "Part of the reason why the Ministry's so bent on reigning him in is that he has really good skills for it: forgery, useful contacts - the lot. And," she said, her tone bitter, "and eidetic memory."

But Annabeth was still confused.

"But we _knew _something like this would happen, Pipes." Annabeth said again, squeezing her arm. "And Umbridge hasn't done anything against anyone specific yet." She told her friend about the Decree notice downstairs, and explained how it entailed the complete banishment of groups, teams and societies.

Piper didn't look surprised or relieved in the slightest. Annabeth was getting worried. What on earth was wrong? And what did she mean by blackmail?

"It doesn't matter that she hasn't punished you specifically." Piper explained. "Because no matter what's on paper, things are different in practice. She _knows _that Harry and his gang were involved, and that you guys were involved, and that - some way or another - _I_ was involved."

Annabeth was stunned. She didn't have time gather her thoughts before Piper spoke again.

"We were wrong to underestimate her, Annabeth. The woman might horrible and ridiculous and blind to many things, but she's not stupid." Piper chuckled mirthlessly. "Should've known. She works for the _Ministry_, for gods' sake. She probably knows a mole when she sees one."

Annabeth took a deep breath.

"Piper," she said, with as much calm as she could, "What, exactly, did she say?"

Piper was chewing her lip, still refusing to look at the other girl.

"She said that she understood why I came to her - that it must be very scary to have all sorts of new rules around," her voice dripped with scorn, "and that I did the right thing to come to her. But she also said that no matter how many times I did the right thing - in other words that I _wussed out _-" she spat, "I would always be vulnerable to suspicion because I'm so close to you guys. So even if I did tell on my friends, I would be still be involved by virtue of guilt by association. At least, she _implied _it - with a smile and a pat on the hand - but it was clear that's what she would tell the Minister if things went wrong."

She paused.

"So, it was all _that_, unless..." Piper gulped, then her mouth stretched once more into the humourless smile that looked so wrong on her pretty face, "Unless I tell her exactly what Harry and you lot are doing all day, every day. She expects a twice-weekly report."

Annabeth stopped short. Her mind seemed to have gone blank. There was nothing on the tip of her tongue that was ready to say, like there always was.

But that wasn't because of Piper's revelation to her. It was because Annabeth simply could not understand what was so terrible about it.

"But... Piper." she said, squeezing her arm around Piper's hunched shoulders. "That's what we planned. Don't you see? The results are perfect; it's _exactly _what Leo-"

"Urgh! Don't you _get _it?" Piper snapped, her eyes finally meeting Annabeth's and flashing with pain and anger. "I don't care what we _planned_, Annabeth. Right now, all I'm feeling is that I _told _on my friends - some of whom are people I barely _know_, people who have no idea we planned all this - and went over to the dark side and practically offered my services! Now, I have to spy on the people I love for people I despise, all for the sake of a stupid _mission_. I have to constantly voyage between us and Umbridge, knowing that at any moment I could slip up and give the game away! Knowing that, if I do, she'll drag us _all _down together."

Piper heaved deep breaths.

"She's not turning me into a double-agent, Annabeth. She's turning me into a _Slytherin_. A slimy, immoral, sneaky and disloyal person with no thoughts of consequences other than to herself. The kind of Slytherin that everyone assumes all Slytherins are!"

Her eyes were now full of tears.

"She's turning me into the very thing I've been fighting against since I got landed in that stupid house!"

Her friend shuddered and gasped, trying to gulp back tears and wiping them away when she failed. All Annabeth could do was hold her and rub her back as days' and weeks' worth of pain and guilt choked itself out of Piper's system. _It shouldn't be me doing this_, she thought miserably. _I'm no good at this sort of thing. Jason is the one she needs. He loves her more than anything - he'd have the right words, not me._

When a couple of minutes had passed, and Piper's crying had calmed somewhat, Annabeth found her cheek had come to rest on her friend's head. She stroked Piper's hair back gently, finding the gesture new and a little awkward, but the impulse was natural and not at all patronising as she once thought it would be. She'd never had a real sister - except perhaps for Thalia - but if she had, Annabeth had a feeling this was how she'd comfort her in moments of complete breakdown. She even remembered how Thalia herself had once stroked her hair when she was much younger after a particularly bad monster attack. The soothing rhythm had reminded her of her father, and though bittersweet in the moment, was probably the most comforting thing the huntress could have done short of being her father himself.

"You know what I think?" she said finally. "I think the very fact you're crying now shows that you're _not _turning into that person. I _know _you, Piper McLean, and you are about as far from being that as we are from the sun. Your intentions are always good."

Piper choked a bitter laugh through her tears.

"Last I checked, it wasn't the road to heaven that was paved with good intentions." She shuddered slightly, and continued. "Besides, it's what other people will see! They'll see me and think that I'm no different to all the stereotypes after all. I've been through stuff like that before, and I don't think I can stand it another time, Annabeth - not now, not again."

"Screw other people!" Annabeth whispered fiercely. "And besides, they won't. We'll keep it a secret from everyone, and if Umbridge is smart like you said, then so will she. She has _no _hold on you, Piper."

Annabeth turned Piper's face towards her own. Tears streaked her cheeks, and her eyes were so full of pain and self-loathing that Annabeth felt the very same emotions knock at the door of her own heart. But she pushed them down. Now was not the time to succumb to those. She had to be strong for her friend.

"But she does," Piper whispered. "She has _you guys_ over me. If I do something wrong, she'll punish you along with me!"

Annabeth shook her head, smiling a little.

"And do what?" she asked, perfectly serious. "Put us in detention? Expel us? Arrest us? Haven't you seen the papers recently? The Ministry's acting like education is their sole purpose in life. D'you really think they'd expel or arrest a dozen students at once, including the _Boy Who Lived_? Harry may be a crackpot in the eyes of the wizarding world at the moment, but Dumbledore would cut open his veins to make sure that boy wasn't taken out of here. And as for us... Pipes, we're foreign exchange students, and that places us under the jurisdiction of our own Ministry back home. Here, they weren't even able to see that we're not real wizarding citizens; d'you think they'd be able to send us home on the grounds that we broke a few school rules?"

Piper just gulped silently. Annabeth hugged her again.

"We're students, Piper. That status will protect us until we leave Hogwarts, or at the very least until we turn seventeen. Umbridge might be pulling out all her weapon assortments now, but that's only because she knows her grip on the school is nowhere as she secure as she'd like to think it is. We're safe. _You're _safe." Her eyes glittered. "And if that woman thinks she can scare us with her decrees and her detentions and her threats, then we'll simply have to scare her back. I doubt _she _has swords or bows and arrows, or a fire-breathing metal dragon."

She pulled back, smiling faintly again.

"And really, I'm hurt. Are we such bad friends that you think we'll leave you to deal with this by yourself? We've all been forced to walk alone before," she said, knowing full well how that loneliness could crush the soul, "and now that we're all working together to get this mission done, there is nothing to keep us from bumping in and giving a hand, you hear me?"

Piper gave her a tentative, watery smile.

"I guess," she said thickly. "It's just scary, y'know? Usually when we're on a quest you're scared for yourself, of physical harm, and not being able to make it. But this... knowing your friends are in danger if you slip up - that's kinda new, and a hell of a lot scarier."

"Yeah, I know." Annabeth agreed, perfectly sincere. She squeezed her friend one last time and removed her arm. In doing so, the face of her watch caught the morning light, causing its wearer to suddenly yelp.

"You know what else is scary? Being late for McGonagall. We have fifteen minutes until start of class!"

They scrambled off off Piper's bed, frantically pulling clothes on and searching for relevant textbooks. There was no time to brush or style their hair, so they pinned it up using their wands, and two minutes later they were rushing out off their Common Room (fittingly slamming the door so hard that the Decree fluttered off with the force of it) only to see a relieved Percy walking up the corridor, hands in his pockets.

"I was just going to get you!" he called out, jogging up to meet them. "Overslept, huh? We've still got time to get to McGonagall's class, but..." he lowered his voice, "have you seen the new Decree?"

"Yep!" Annabeth said breezily, winking at him and grabbing his arm, turning him around so that he missed the sight of Piper hurriedly wiping the last of her tears away - there was no point in advertising the fact that she'd broken down to the world's least discreet male adolescent. "Shame. Terrible business, and all that."

Percy goggled at her.

"Shame? That's it? You do realise Umbridge is including the Quidditch teams and the school houses in that stupid decree?"

Piper snickered, and Annabeth laughed out loud.

"Guess that means we're all expelled."

Oh, she loved loopholes.

**A/N:**

**Hello!**

**Urgh. Angst. One of the fair few genres I do **_**not **_**like writing. (So please excuse any cliché/inadequate writing quirks in this scene.)**

**Okay, new chapter done, guys.**

** Also, new strategy: I usually prefer longer chapters, but that kind of habit makes my writing schedule sporadic and unpredictable, it takes ages for me to edit it all, and it means you guys have to wait aeons for updates that aren't always worth it. **

**So. Shorter, more frequent chapters sound good to you?**

**Thanks for all the support you've given. Your reviews are like a warm wind streaming in my face and making my hair worthy of Pocahontas :-) This fic is - on some days - the only thing I can think about, so thank you all for bearing with me.**

**PS: I promise I'll update more often from now on.**


	13. Aut Imiteris Aut Oderis

**Chapter 13 - Aut Imiteris Aut Oderis**

**Author's Note:**

**Just a very quick thank you to the (unfortunately anonymous) exceedingly tremendous person who posted a review with excellent material, some of which they will recognise in this chapter. It made me think quite a bit; thank you!**

**Guys, as always, thanks for your support - it really is invaluable.**

* * *

There were only so many places in which one could hide at Hogwarts, Nico found out, much to his exasperation and disappointment.

The castle was huge. Bloomin' massive, actually. It had at least seven floors depending on the day of the week, dozens of classrooms, a library the size of Camp Jupiter's senate room, towers, broom cupboards, private bathrooms, ramparts and dungeons. And yet, there were very few places one could sneak into and lie low in for more than an hour before someone strolled, tripped or flew by.

Maybe it was because it was a school, Nico thought crossly as he side-stepped another girl who was hurrying down the hall. Students all over the place, and probably all at some point looking for a bit of privacy themselves. No wonder teachers went round the bend. He only had a few memories of the school he and Bianca had been fetched from by Percy and Annabeth, but they were far from pleasant and did not star any sane teachers.

Still, there was at least one place where he could be alone. It was probably the only spot which students generally avoided, partly because of the ambience, but mostly because it was so near to the Slytherins' and their master's lair. Even Slytherins themselves chose to power-walk down the narrow, dark corridors and hurriedly clamber into their common room rather than spend too much time in the place that looked and felt like the bowels of the castle.

Naturally, being dark and quiet the place was immediately attractive to Nico. Not because he actually enjoyed the gloomy humidity, but because the rest of the building was invariably permeated with loud Gryffindors, sneering Slytherins, Weasley fireworks, scolding teachers and giggling girls. The noise nearly drove Nico crazy every day; it was so damaging to his patience and mental well-being that he often skipped the last period of the day just so he could escape the chaos a little sooner. Annabeth's brow sometimes creased when she noticed, but she eternally endeared herself to Nico by never confronting him about it. Instead, she took up the habit of sitting down next to him in their common room, and together with Hazel helped him cover what he missed during his skiving sessions. Not that it showed in his current grades, but it was the gesture that he appreciated.

Lessons themselves were okay, he supposed. They were a damn good sight more interesting than maths and English and geography anyway, even if doing homework for them was ridiculously difficult since they knew very little about the subjects.

History of Magic was by far the most awkward. Word had it Professor Binns never knew he had died and become a ghost. Now that was a case of extreme denial the likes of which Nico never imagined, or else the professor had simply never wanted to discuss it, Either way, these days there was no way he didn't know he was dead, judging by the way he shrank and became almost transparent whenever Nico entered the classroom. The latter had had to have a couple of stern words with the teacher because if he continued like that, even little first-years would start connecting the dots and summarise that there was something odd linking the boy and the ghost. The content of the subject itself was dreary, though. Goblin wars were only interesting for the first few lessons, and even then only if the lecturer's voice was more lively than a bunch of dry leaves being blown about on a pavement.

Other subjects were more of a blur. Potions was unpleasant, Charms was surprisingly fun (though essays were torture), Transfiguration was scary - and not just because students temporarily but regularly disfigured themselves with accidental magic (McGonagall could be just as intimidating as Snape when she wanted), Care of Magical Creatures was... weird, to say the least. Some of the animals they dealt with in class, like Bowtruckles, were very dull to say the least, but the ones in their textbooks looked fascinating: unicorns; hippogriffs; chimaera; manticores; werewolves... The only potential problem was that some of those creatures were recognisably from Ancient Greek mythology: would that warrant a different kind of behaviour when they encountered the demigods?(The last thing they needed was Percy chatting with a unicorn.)

So far there had been four separate entities (five if you counted the suspicious portrait on the fifth-floor corridor) who had known them for demigods on sight. Hopefully, that ability did not extend to non-sentient creatures.

Herbology was another zone of grey matter. Everyone in the demigod group knew without a doubt that the Demeter kids would have the time of their lives in those greenhouses, but for them the experience often closely resembled imminent death rather than gardening lessons. However the sentient plants, luckily, took out their wrath on everyone - not just those who may or may not be on lukewarm terms with Demeter and Persephone, as the two children of Hades had at first feared. Hazel and Nico had discussed this at length, and decided that it had to be the influence of magic in this world: this was Hecate's realm, and two goddesses' petty complaints against them had little consequence here. (Although there was always a niggling voice at the back of Nico's mind reminding him that this protection only lasted _within _Hecate's land.)

Still, at the end of the day it was no wonder that exhaustion weighed down his limbs and clouded his mind, until even Hazel couldn't talk to him without getting a sharp retort for an answer.

The truth was, and always had been, that Nico sometimes could not get away faster. School was so constant and repetitive and difficult and so full of _people_. Lessons at least were spent staring at the Professors and their dusty blackboards, but between periods and at lunch breaks the corridors _heaved _with students. Sometimes the traffic was so bad that it took over two minutes for a corner to clear, and those minutes were amongst the most trying of Nico's week. The press of four or five different bodies digging into his own, the smell of girls' shampoo, the overpowering stench of male deodorant, the tickle of pigtails, the grumblings and shouting of the compressed students... It all made Nico so pressured and claustrophobic that he very quickly associated navigating between classes and corridors with the feeling of nausea.

He tried to hide it from the others, but he knew they knew. Of course they knew. They were trained warriors with natural ADHD and hardened observation skills. There was no way they missed his stark grey face, clenched fists, sweaty forehead and heaving breaths every time they emerged from a sea of twittering adolescents.

Nico didn't know what he would be doing here without his friends. A year ago, that sentence would have sounded completely alien in his head, but that did not make it any the less true in the present. Despite the frequent bouts of gloominess and sulky silence that plagued his behaviour, the others made it so much easier by simply _being _there. Odd really, considering his well-established problem with people in general. The fact that Hazel and Frank were often in the same classes as him made lessons infinitely more bearable, and having someone not too loud like Annabeth to sit next to at lunch was nice as well.

In fact, Nico's growing fondness for an equally increasing number of people extended far beyond Hogwarts. He missed Reyna and her big-sister care of him. He missed Chiron, who had always been kind to him. He missed Will, too. Especially Will. The son of Apollo could be an annoying derp sometimes, but he was one of the very few who didn't make Nico feel inadequate and undesirable. It hadn't always been that way, but recently they'd been getting on really well, and...

Nico scowled. Great, now he sounded like a wistful protagonist of one of those soppy storybooks Bianca had once gone through the phase of devouring.

Finally, he reached the spot he had found a couple of weeks ago that was almost always deserted. It wasn't hard to see why it was so shunned: the niche in the dungeon wall was about two feet deep and four wide, with nary a cushion or an armrest or even a nearby torch, but it was peaceful. Nico had to assume someone had severely misunderstood the architectural plans all those centuries ago, because he couldn't imagine any couple snuggling up here for a romantic half-hour, nor for that matter a passing a Ravenclaw to settle down and finish Flourish and Blott's latest edition of _Three Hundred and Fifty Two Types of Eggshell Patterns and Their Uses in Divination_.

Sighing with relief, Nico crashed onto the small stone ledge, tilting his head back against the hall and closing his eyes. Finally, peace and quiet. With his eyes shut, the dim light and the humid, slightly musty smell, he could almost be in a bird-less forest.

Nico felt the tension in his shoulders lift a little. No doubt books and films made it seem like maintaining a secret identity was fun and mysterious, like a game between the hero and the dumb bad guys who couldn't even see their enemy was right under their noses. But they never really captured the anxiety of it, the sheer weight of keeping your whole past from your entire surroundings, the constant worry of saying too much or not enough, of breaking or making suspicious eye-contact, smiling at things you shouldn't, taking swipes too seriously or not respecting the established authority. And even if you hadn't made a mistake for a few days, the constant possibility of _what if_ forever hovered at your shoulder like a malicious shadow.

The Slytherins mostly left him alone, though. That was the faint plus-side of things. Chiron had given them the task of befriending their classmates and, if possible, make allies of them, but Nico privately thought that he and Piper were lucky as it was that they weren't actively being picked on, let alone making buddies of Malfoy, Nott or Rosier. Curiously enough, Piper and Nico were never subjected to the kind of verbal abuse the Slytherins usually inflicted on members of other Houses, though Nico understood it to be more of an ideological phenomenon than one which suggested actual tolerance or liking. The Slytherins were bitterly aware that they were the unpopular ones in the school, so while none of them was going to mother ickle firsties or go out of their way to lend someone a hand, they looked out for their housemates and stuck together. That was the way it was and new Slytherins quickly learned to live with it, Nico knew - if a little sadly.

He frowned.

The thing was, while being ignored by Slytherin House was absolutely fine by him and probably just as much for Piper, Chiron's instructions kept repeating themselves in his mind, nudging him to reject the silent barrier over and over until he could no longer bear to stand by in the shadows while his housemates did anything, even such ordinary tasks as completing their homework, playing chess, chatting over a meal or simply walking down the corridors. Nico's aversion to any social contact kept pulling at his mind to sit still and wait for the people he knew and liked to approach him, but the sense of duty he'd somehow managed to acquire even during all those years alone told him to sit down with the Slytherins and strike up an acquaintanceship with them.

Nico almost groaned in the dank, gloomy darkness of the dungeon as he pressed his face with the heels of his hands. How the hell had he landed the job of a socialite? This wasn't his area. That kind of thing was for people like Percy and Piper, who could talk to someone openly without coming across as a teenage serial killer.

Nico knew he spooked a lot of the few people he engaged with. It was part of why he kept his distance so much. His friends had tried very often to make him understand that it simply wasn't the case, people just didn't know him well enough, and that maybe it just took a little getting used to, that was all. But he knew they were only saying that because they themselves had gotten to know him a bit more, and even then only because they'd had to pull together to save the world, which was the case for precisely no-one else.

Sometimes the ghosts came and kept him company a little. He never asked for it, and they never offered it, but it always just sort of happened, with neither party ever questioning it nor resenting the other. Nico didn't mind their occasional presence. Ghosts were much quieter than live people, and a lot of them appeared to understand why he often sought isolation. Apparently a fair few of them did their own brand of brooding, only theirs usually involved moaning and long-suffering sighs and floating through walls.

The Fat Friar was the nicest one of all the ghosts. If you happened to touch him he was cold as ice, and your hand felt numb for ages afterwards, but there was a certain illusory warmth about him. Even his ruddy cheeks in all their translucence seemed to radiate a healthy glow. His calm and cheerful manner never put Nico on edge. If anything, he reminded Nico a little of Chiron, though he doubted the stately old centaur would appreciate the comparison if he ever found out.

Moaning Myrtle was also a regular visitor. She was still fascinated with the son of Hades, and the pull she apparently felt proved enough to entice her out of her customary bathroom and seek him out in the dungeons. Ghosts never had any trouble finding the son of Hades. They were like birds, knowing which way was North and South, only it was the boy who was a constant point on their compass.

Nico at first had thought that the ghosts seeking him out was just their way of reporting information back to him - which had confused him a little, since he could communicate with them almost telepathically - but as it turned out, they just wanted his company - another sensation that was still very strange to Nico.

Whenever she did find him sitting on his own in the dungeons, Myrtle usually camped out beside him and kept him up to date with the gossip. She was surprisingly well-informed; her habit of moving around the castle along the pipes apparently making her privy to all sorts of exchanges, most of which she recounted to Nico in detail and with absolute relish while he listened in alternate bouts of exasperation, amusement and discomfort. At least she didn't moan anymore when she talked to him. He knew she still did a great deal of it, but their initial meeting had apparently not had the traumatic impact Percy and Annabeth had feared. If Myrtle was frightened of Nico, her conduct said the exact opposite.

The only ghost he didn't like spending too much time with was the Bloody Baron. His behaviour was filled with recurrent periods of self-loathing and pity, but Nico had the uneasy sense that there was lot more to him and his past than melancholy. He could feel ghosts' past auras, and sometimes, if it had been particularly violent or memorable, he could catch a glimpse of their manner of death. The Baron's death had been fraught with hate, jealous love and murderous rage. So much for regret.

Maybe the dark loneliness of the dungeon wasn't so good for him after all. It had at first seemed like an ideal shelter, but Nico could feel sombre thoughts returning, like they always did when he isolated himself from the world. To Nico, his mind felt trapped in a maddening cycle of seeking solitude, over-thinking his interactions with people, concluding that they probably didn't want him nearby anyway, and being pulled out into the light again by his friends. Then for a few glorious hours he would feel at peace with the world, and sometimes even join in the banter with his friends, but soon the little pricks of discomfort - small and subtle at first, then getting stronger with each passing moment - prodded him over and over to run away from people again, until he could bear the sound of laughing and idle chatter no longer and fled to the dark, quiet recesses of the castle and his mind.

It was frustrating, it was exhausting... and it was all Nico knew.

Just as Nico was about to summon all his courage to leave his dark, womb-like corner, he heard footsteps coming down the only corridor that led here.

Nico froze. He wasn't technically forbidden from being here, but being caught all alone in a deserted dungeon was going to look more than suspicious. He could go further down the passage until he reached the storing cupboard at the end of it. Maybe he could magic the lock open and hide in there.

Then it occurred to him that the person walking towards him was probably coming here with the precise purpose of entering that very cupboard anyway.

The footsteps were getting closer. Nico crept back into his niche and pressed himself to the darkest wall. It was his best chance of staying unnoticed, as long as he kept very quiet and still...

Of course, no such luck. The person was holding their lighted wand aloft, and the stark white glow left Nico no chance at concealment.

"Di Angelo, what in Merlin's name are you doing here?"

It was Snape. Nico recognised the voice before he saw his face, blinded as he was by the professor's wandlight.

"Professor, I... I wasn't doing anything."

Snape raised an eyebrow.

"No? Then perhaps you were seeking the comforts of cold damp stone after a long day of lessons? Which, I believe," he checked a watch from his pocket, "have not yet ended."

Nico pressed his lips together. How was he going to get out of this? Of all the teachers he could land on, he got the notoriously harsh Potions Master, and he hadn't even done anything wrong.

"I got Professor McGonagall's permission to leave. I had a bad headache." he fibbed.

"And you chose to recuperate in this..." Snape looked around in feigned curiosity, "health ward?"

"I find the dark and quiet to be more effective than any medicine," Nico said quietly, glancing meaningfully at the light that was still shining directly in his eyes. "Sir," he added. He always forgot.

Snape said nothing for a moment, instead he scrutinised Nico's face - maybe for any signs of lying or deliberate rudeness. His eyes were always black and cold, but in the harsh white glow of his wand they were completely devoid of emotion, save suspicion. The son of Hades thought there was an unusual intensity to them for a moment, like the man was trying to see more than what was in front of him.

After a few seconds, he finally lowered his wand. Nico rubbed his eyes, trying to erase the coloured dots from his vision. He hated it when that happened, like an alien intervention on his senses, trying to adorn his bleak view of the world with bright spots of colour when there were none.

"No matter, di Angelo." Snape said, his voice unpleasantly calm. "I am sure Professor McGonagall will make sure you learn what you missed, and no doubt we all have our own ways of dealing with discomfort. Nevertheless," his eyes glittered, "you are not where you are supposed to be, and obviously that cannot go unpunished. I have been said to favour my students, but they all know that is far from the truth, as will you from now on. Come with me."

He turned and walked away, in the direction he had been going before he had seen Nico, toward the storing cupboard.

Nico's heart sank even further. All he'd wanted was a bit of peace and quiet. What horrible punishment was Snape going to concoct now? There were rumours among the students that he'd once made a couple of third-years clean and de-moss the exterior of the entire North Tower over the course of a fortnight. Whether that was true or not, Nico didn't know, though it was probably his mind playing tricks on him whenever he passed by the tower and it looked slightly less mossy than the others.

_In any case_, he thought, as he followed the Potions Master down the corridor, _I've got cards up my sleeve he wouldn't even dream of. Bring it on, Batman._

Oh, wonderful. Now he was starting to sound like Percy.

With increasing dread, despite the rational knowledge that this was a school and not a torture chamber, Nico followed Snape into the storing cupboard - which was more of a mini-office, really. There were shelves covering the entirety of the four walls, supporting hundreds of different little vials and bundles of dried plant, with little platforms jutting out at hip-height, and a large board at the far end of the room covered with small empty bottles and glass containers, pieces of parchment and a pot of old quills. The room smelled a little musty, no doubt because sunlight had never penetrated its sanctuary, and there was another odour Nico couldn't place but which reminded him of disinfectant alcohol.

With a wave of his hand, Snape lit several candles around the little room and a central lamp that hung from the ceiling. The light immediately became a lot warmer, but in no way did it make Nico feel any better about the situation. Snape's face was now its usual sallow yellowish colour and still shrouded in too many shadows to see clearly. The many bundles of herbs and string and threaded seeds that hung from the rafters shifted very slightly from the heat the candles and the lamp gave off, casting shuddering specks of shadow all around.

"So," Snape said, his lips curling at the side. "Thought you could claim a headache and skive the last lesson, did you?"

Nico glared at him.

Snape smirked.

"Oh dear, quite the sullen little teenager, aren't we?"

_You're one to talk_, Nico thought. _Gliding around the castle like a huge antisocial bat. At least I know what I am._

But he didn't say it out loud, and Snape watched him, looking faintly amused.

For once, he didn't seem to mind that a student was deliberately ignoring his questions. Nico had seen him deduct points from a Gryffindor for taking more than two seconds to answer him. He was on thin ice here, he knew.

After a few more seconds, Snape's expression dropped any amusement and leaned his torso a little more toward Nico, his eyes narrowing and somehow becoming even more piercing. The boy in front of him felt his gaze like a poke at his temple, then - completely by surprise - a slight brush to the edge of his mind. With an internal jolt, he realised he'd felt the same thing before: in Dumbledore's office the afternoon they had arrived at Hogwarts. Snape was trying to read his mind!

Immediately, Nico made his face as blank and closed-off as possible. He averted Snape's eyes - that seemed to be the way these things worked; Dumbledore had done the same - and focused instead on the bridge of his nose. Slightly at a loss of what else to do, Nico tried to think of something - anything - that was not demigods or Camp or prophecies. He felt rage flare up. How _dare _Snape try to penetrate his mind!?

At Nico's absolute refusal to show any emotion - particularly fear - Snape leant back, looking disappointed and a little confused.

"Still no? Very well, we'll have to force some manners into you."

Nico had had enough. He felt his temper snap at this man's nerve.

"Before teaching _me _about manners," he said angrily, "hasn't your mother ever told you it's rude to invade someone's privacy? Especially," he growled, knowing and not caring that some of the darkness in him was leaking from his voice, "without their intended knowledge."

Snape looked taken aback, and even a little impressed.

"Ah, he speaks once more." he drawled, not sounding at all embarrassed at having been called out. "And a trained Occlumens, no less - or at least partially. Tell me boy, who taught you?"

"Taught me what?" Nico snapped. He could feel the rage inside him flaring on, and the reigns on which he usually tied his temper were in danger of letting go completely. He had no desire to end up in detention, but right now silly things like school and teachers and respect seemed about as important as moon dust.

Snape cast his eyes up to the ceiling, sighing.

"Merlin's beard, why do I surround myself with simpletons?" he wondered aloud, then looked back at Nico, his tone scathing when he next spoke. "Let's not play innocents here, di Angelo. We both know that neither of us are clean in this matter. Now tell me: _who taught you_?"

"You mean who taught me to protect the safety of my own mind?" Nico answered hotly. "Myself, thanks very much. Anyone in the world would be able to tell you same thing, if you asked them."

Snape crossed his arms, apparently no longer even finding Nico's rudeness to be offensive. He looked intrigued.

"Fascinating; a natural, then?" he murmured. Then, "You're sure no-one has tutored you in blocking your mind from outside intervention, or in controlling your thoughts?"

Nico's mouth twisted into a humourless smile.

"Believe me, _thoughts _aren't my problem." he said, darkly.

Now emotions, on the other hand...

Snape _hmmed_, his expression now openly curious. He traced his thin lips with the pad of his thumb, considering his student with all the rapt attention of a scientist discovering a new metal.

His next question was completely out of the blue.

"Remind me the name of your old school?"

Nico frowned in confusion. "Mythomagic Institute." he replied.

"I can't say I've ever heard of it."

Nico shrugged.

Snape sighed.

"Merlin, what a clam you are. Though I must say it makes a change; most students your age barely have enough mental control to conceal their pitiful motives for skipping lessons, let alone their own internal monologues."

Nico said nothing. Snape had apparently expected this. He sat down on the desk-like board behind him and crossed his arms again.

"However I'm afraid, di Angelo, that I have trouble believing you. Usually of course, that would not be a problem since a single well-placed look would tell me all I need to know, but that option is clearly out. Now, you tell me that this," he gestured at Nico's hunched and defensive form, "frankly extraordinary ability is entirely natural, yet I know it cannot be, for a natural Occlumens' defences are like a fortress to any Legilimens. Yours are more of a cloaked nature. Concealing, yes, but easily ripped through with a little force. Which leads me to believe that you have received education in this field, in school at the very least, though more likely from a highly experienced tutor."

Struggling with the unfamiliar vocabulary and for the first time at a loss for words, Nico was genuinely confused.

"I...don't know what to say, Professor." he said, frowning. "I've only told you the truth."

Snape did not answer immediately, though his black eyes continued to bore into Nico's own. The experience was just as chilling as before, but at least they no longer felt like they were physically trying to pry open his mind.

"Well," the Potions teacher finally conceded slowly, "I believe we have reached what they call an impasse. I will see you in class tomorrow, di Angelo. And mind you bring less of the cheek. I think you know I have very little tolerance for impudence and smart-aleck retorts."

Stunned at being dismissed so suddenly, Nico turned and walked out of the cupboard. He couldn't believe he was walking away without the punishment Snape had called him in for in the first place. Then again, Nico now knew something about Snape that could be held over him: he was ready to bet that extracting unwilling information from minors in an educational environment was highly illegal, and leakage or reporting of any such activity would meet consequences.

Suddenly feeling slightly more optimistic about life, Nico made his way back to his common room. He hoped his friends were back.

0o0o0o0o0o0

Harry paced around the Room of Requirement, rubbing the palm of one hand with his thumb on the other. He had to keep doing stuff with them because otherwise he was going to lose his nerve completely and run out of this room and away from Hermione's crazy ideas.

It was remarkable, he thought wryly, how she spent over four years telling them not to do anything rash, and then when there was actual danger in the school she suddenly popped up with an idea that could get them all expelled in the blink of an eye, in which she not only encouraged Harry to participate but practically coerced him into it.

Harry shook his head. Girls were strange.

More and more people were filing into the room, looking around in curiosity and wonder. Fred and George were busy examining the Dark Arts detectors, murmuring to each other and looking like they were considering expanding the brand in the market.

The three Gryffindor Chasers had also found their way fine, though in the case of Angelina a single look had satisfied her interest in the place, and she had pulled Katie and Alicia down onto some cushions with her to discuss possible Quidditch tactics. They'd had to cancel that evening's practice due to weather conditions, but the Gryffindor captain was clearly not letting such pesky things as contingency ruin her strategic moves. Angelina's dark eyes widened and flashed as she detailed her plans, her hands fluttering around her as she illustrated her words with wild gestures, causing her two team-mates to smirk in amusement and discretely motion to others that now was not the time to be within hitting distance of the impassioned captain - specifically Fred, who was behind her imitating her every move with exaggerated effeminate delicacy.

The American foreign exchange students had also arrived, looking relieved to have found the place. The Hispanic boy, Leo, was immediately waylaid by the twins as they entered the room in a group and pulled aside for a hushed conversation that involved a lot of suppressed sounds of excitement and wicked grins.

Percy's girlfriend, Annabeth, looked wonder-struck as she stared at the ceiling. The boy had mentioned in passing her passion for architecture, but as Harry looked up at the ceiling himself he couldn't really see what was so impressive that it warranted the girl's wide-eyed awe. He had a feeling Hermione would know exactly what was so special about the many vaults and arches that towered over the room, but in Hogwarts practically every room and corridor was grand and curved and Gothic, so he himself was quite fazed by this point.

Percy's other friends glanced around the room with varying degrees of interest and wonder on their faces. Harry was surprised and a little ashamed when he realised he only knew the names of only about half of them. There was Percy, obviously, and Annabeth, who was famous all around school for having walked out of Umbridge's class, and then Leo, who had come up with the idea of 'betraying' their group to Umbridge before someone else could do it and inserting a spy in Umbridge's circle. Neither Harry nor Ron had liked the idea at first, but Hermione had matter-of-factly informed them that it was all arranged and under way, so despite their misgivings they'd let the matter drop. Even Ron, who was as anti-Slytherin as they got, grudgingly recognised when prompted by Hermione that these guys barely knew their way around the castle, let alone house rivalries and prejudices.

And apparently, the stunt had pulled off. Their meeting this evening was no more secret than it would have been anyway, and with a little luck their spy had gained some status in Umbridge's view.

The spy in question was the only other non-Gryffindor of that group who Harry knew the name of. Hermione had insisted to him and Ron that Piper McLean's identity as the double-agent had to be kept an absolute secret between the three of them until the time was right to let everyone else in the defence group in the know. The only others who also knew were her friends, and Hermione made it very clear it had to stay that way.

As Harry watched the large group of American wizards, he strained to remember the names of the rest of them. He hadn't ever had cause to speak to them other than the two Hufflepuffs, and even then they hadn't really introduced themselves.

The big burly guy, Harry could just about remember, was... Fred- no, Frank. And his girlfriend was... Oh, come on. She was memorable enough for him to memorise her name, surely! He'd never seen someone do wandless magic like that - the Great Hall's doors usually needed two grown wizards working in tandem to shut them, and she'd pulled them to a close with a wave of her tiny hand.

Harry shook his head to himself. Never mind. He didn't even try to recall the names of the others - even the Gryffindors weren't that familiar, since they spent most of their time together or in their own common room. Well, since he was apparently a teacher from now on, he might pull a leaf from his schoolteachers' books and call for a round of introductions first thing.

During Harry's internal struggle with his memory and patchy attention patterns, the room had filled up until the initial thirty-six (plus Piper, who'd originally been absent for obvious reasons) were present. Conversations were loud and excited, looks - nervous, curious and sceptical - kept being directed at Harry, and quieter whispered exchanges were no less obvious when the people involved kept looking around in nervous anticipation.

Finally, when Dean Thomas had poked his dark head outside the doors - checking for a final time that they hadn't been followed or discovered - he closed them, jogged over to his cushion and sat on the ground before turning his attentive gaze to Harry, whose mouth was suddenly dry.

"Er... Hi." he said, then choked slightly because his tongue felt wooden. He coughed, trying to summon the saliva that was usually so unobtrusive and beneficent.

"Hi!" Leo called back, smiling easily. "How are you?"

Harry smiled a little, trying to hide his shaky hands.

"Erm, fine. Thanks. How are you?"

Leo shrugged, stretching out his legs and folding his hands behind his head.

"Never better, dude. You doing great, by the way."

Harry felt himself flush a little, and a few people laughed.

"What?" Leo said, grinning. "Poor guy's nervous as hell, give him a break."

Harry smiled in gratitude and rubbed his hair awkwardly. Funnily enough, Leo's antics had made him a little calmer. He had to remember he was among friends here, not hungry Acromantulae.

"Er... Right. Thanks for that, Leo. Er... Could we maybe just have a round of names, first? 'Cause I'm ashamed to say there are a couple of you I've never spoken to before."

The people in front of him nodded, and Harry motioned for the guy nearest to the door to start.

"Marius Fell," he said, a little superciliously. "Sixth-year, Ravenclaw."

"Thalia Grace, sixth-year, Gryffindor."

"Nico di Angelo, fifth-year, Slytherin."

And it went on, until Hannah Abbot muttered her name to her knees and Susan Bones yelled it out loudly for her.

The mention of two Slytherin names had caused a few ripples in the crowd, but nobody called them out on it except for a few hostile glares directed their way before all attention turned back to Harry.

The latter noticed the two Slytherins in question squirm a little under the less-than-friendly scrutiny. The boy Nico rolled his eyes, but Piper ducked her head and Jason Grace put his arm around her, scowling at the sneering Zacharias Smith in particular. He made a mental note to speak to Smith later. Harry didn't have much love for Slytherins either, but Piper was their double-agent and she at least deserved a chance.

"Right. Um, now I gave this first session a fair bit of thought and - yes, Hermione?"

Hermione Granger took her hand out of the air.

"How about a name and a leader first?" she suggested breathlessly, sounding happy and excited.

"Harry's leader." Cho Chang said, like she was talking to a dumb child.

"Yeah, I thought ol' P-dawg was the big arms here." Leo said. "Boy-Who-Lived, King of Quidditch and all that."

"Well I didn't vote for him." someone muttered.

Harry's dismay at that immediately lifted when several others shouted them down, and Leo snorted.

"'Course not, you don't vote for a king. And if we did, you wouldn't qualify. We need IQs that are higher than Umbridge's heels."

Laughter rippled around the body of students, and even Harry cracked a smile. Hermione got up on her knees, calling out for students to raise their hands if they wanted Harry for leader ("Actually, let's do it the other way around - it's easier to count." she amended, winking at Harry and grinning.) Not a single person objected to the result, and Hermione sat back down again, pleased - though not nearly so pleased or embarrassed as Harry himself.

"Um, right. Thanks. Now - _what_, Hermione?"

"We still haven't decided on a name." she reminded them brightly. "I think it gives us a sense of identity and unity, don't you agree?"

"Why? Defence Group Thingy not good enough for you?" Percy called out, laughing.

"How about the We Hate Umbridge Group?" on of the Weasley twins suggested. "Or the Ministry of Magic Are Morons Society?"

"Something that doesn't tell the world exactly what we're doing," Hermione specified, rolling her eyes.

"Brickhouse? Firework League? Potato Club?"

"Yes," Harry couldn't help saying sarcastically, "because Potato Club sounds so sophisticated."

"Aww, but we're such cute lil' potatoes," Leo wheedled. "We can even get matching hats or badges and something, and have secret recognition signals."

Harry didn't quite get how nearly forty students could wear identically potato-shaped hats and keep it a secret, especially if special handshakes kept being exchanged between them, but Cho saved him the trouble of shooting Leo down by coming up with the first sensible name.

"How about the Defence Association?" she suggested. "Doesn't sound too illegal either, unless you're Umbridge. We can even call it the DA for short, so people don't have a clue what we're talking about."

"Yeah, that's cool." Ginny joined in. "Only let's make it stand for Dumbledore's Army, 'cause isn't that Fudge's biggest fear?"

"Yes, and that doesn't tell _anyone_ what we're doing, does it?" Leo asked sarcastically.

Ginny shrugged.

"Which is why we'll refer to it as the DA," she reasoned.

People all around her were nodding and laughing in agreement, and Hermione once more counted hands and passed the majority. She wrote 'Dumbledore's Army' at the head of the parchment that listed all their names, then magically fixed it to the wall of the room.

Hermione appeared to have done her bit, so all eyes landed back on Harry, who felt his mouth go a little dry again.

"Okay, I reckon we should start with a basic spell, _Expelliarmus_. I know we've probably all done it before, but I've always found it really useful-"

Zacharias Smith snorted.

"Oh please, we've known how to do _Expelliarmus _since we were in our cribs."

"Like I said," Harry repeated, trying to sound patient, "I've always found it useful, and it saved my life in June, so..."

"Actually Harry, I don't think _we've _ever done it before," Percy called out, not actually looking at Harry but at the back of Smith's blonde head. There was a strangely hard look in his eyes. "I think we'd like to have a demo before we try it ourselves."

"Otherwise _who knows_ what'll happen when we start dabbling with unfamiliar spells," Annabeth said sweetly, her gaze equally hard and focused on the obnoxious Hufflepuff.

Her eyes switched to meet Harry's, and he immediately understood what she wanted him to do.

He gave her a faint smile in response.

"Sure," he said. "Zach, I think us two experts ought to do just fine. How about we show everyone what to do so that no one's confused, hmm?"

Smith blanched a little, clearing not having expected to be called upon so suddenly, but he set his jaw and got to his feet, squaring his thin shoulders as he marched to the front of the crowd, who was looking on gleefully. Only Zach's fellow Hufflepuffs were exchanging worried looks and anxious whispers. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw the twins lean in to hear something Leo was saying, and then discreetly exchange something he suspected was coins.

Harry drew out his wand and faced the boy's tense form, noting with mild satisfaction that he'd been right: Zach's grip was too tight, and his arm held too stiffly by his side to be wielded with the necessary speed. They bowed, and on the count of three brandished their wands at the other.

"_Expelliarmus_!" they shouted.

Predictably, Harry's spell landed exactly where it was meant to and Zach's, while brightly red and strong, shot way off its mark and hit the bookshelf to Harry's right as his wand flew out of his grip and landed in the crowd, where a grinning George picked it up and twirled it in his notoriously tricky hands.

The group of American students started to shout and clap, and Percy whistled so loudly that the dark-skinned girl next to him clapped her hands over her ears. She scowled at him, but Percy only laughed and carried on applauding the winner.

Zach flushed red, but to his credit he did not call for a rematch or claim he was out of practice. He stomped back to his place, snatching his wand back from George, and even nodded grudgingly at Harry, who at the last moment decided not to publicly correct his wand-grip and nodded back.

"Illuminating," Thalia Grace remarked, in her usual tones of not-quite-sarcasm but too edgy to be perfectly serious. "I'm guessing we should split up now, right?"

Harry nodded, and everyone got to their feet, very eager to start doing defensive magic for the first time that year. Most of them split into pairs, though a few groups of three students formed. These tended to be trios of friends, like Ron and Hermione who'd taken pity on Neville when he ended up alone, or Ravenclaws, who - as Smith had rudely but correctly stated - had mastered the spell aeons ago and preferred the extra challenge of two opponents rather than one. Harry was impressed as he watched Terry Boot, Michael Corner and Anthony Goldstein duel with an ease and grace that seemed effortless for three full rounds before Terry's disarming spell hit Anthony's hand and caused him to yelp.

Cho Chang had paired up with her sulky friend and was doing fairly well, though for some reason whenever she noticed Harry glancing over she messed up and repeatedly caused Marietta's curls to bounce around like sentient springs. Himself feeling a little jittery whenever this happened, Harry studiously avoided going too close to them and instead walked around the room, correcting people's stances and the little flaws that had engrained themselves in their styles over the years. He kept feeling mixed twinges of satisfaction, pleasure and guilt - after all he was no real expert himself, just a happy-go-lucky Dark Arts survivor - but in the end it was pride that ruled over the rest. His tutees were indeed good at this spell, and once Luna was persuaded to concentrate, Ginny to flirt less, Ernie to stop treating the duel like a dance, and Susan to stop laughing whenever Hannah mumbled and messed up, they were actually a pretty decent bunch, and aiming in general was the only issue worth mentioning.

The only ones who were having distinctly more trouble with the spell were Percy and his friends. They were enthusiastic about it, and carefully mimicked Harry's demonstrated gestures, but apparently the spell itself was a little difficult for them to grasp.

"It's okay," Harry told a frustrated Hazel - he had at last re-learned her name thanks to Frank apologising when he caused her hair to _ping _out of her bun - "if this is really the first time you're using this spell it's not surprising you're having trouble with it. Just get used to the words and the gesture, and don't worry about the magic right now."

"But all the others have got it fine," Hazel said crossly, "and I heard Susan say this was only the second or third time she was doing it. I've tried five times, now!"

"Then keep going until you get it," Harry said patiently. "You will eventually."

The only ones in their group who had managed to pull it off so far were Annabeth and Nico. Twice they sent Percy and Thalia's wands spinning out of their hands before they could so much as blink. Harry congratulated them both and urged them all to practice in their free time - in private, obviously - though he made a mental note to start off the next session with _Expelliarmus _again before moving on to simple blocking spells. Extra practice would always be good, and this lot didn't seem to know about shielding spells either. Briefly, he wondered why that was - those were basic spells at Hogwarts, did Mythomagic have different versions of them?

"Harry, I did it!" came Neville's cry of triumph. "Did you see that? I disarmed Hermione!"

Harry noticed Hermione's faint smile and look of amusement, and suspected the victory was not so straightforward, but he nodded encouragingly at the flushed Gryffindor boy.

"Good one. Let me see another..."

Before long, an hour had gone by and the people in the room were starting to show signs of fatigue. It was a flushed and breathless Hermione who reminded Harry of the time, and he hurriedly called the practicing to an end.

"That was really, really good." he said, as sincerely as he felt. "Any issues can be ruled out very quickly, and I think next session we'll be done with this spell."

"Speaking of which, when is the next session?" Angelina called out, looking a little worried. "We really need to get on with our Quidditch practice-"

"Next Wednesday night," Hermione answered promptly. "I checked the Quidditch timetables and that's when the Slytherin team practices, so even Nico and Piper can come again since they're not on the team."

There were murmurs at the reminded presence of the two Slytherins, as though for a time they had been forgotten as potential wolves among sheep. The irony was that one of them _was _a spy, Harry thought with an internal smile, but not on the side everyone would think.

"That's great, thanks Hermione." Harry said loudly before anyone could say something stupid. "We wouldn't want anyone who wants to come to be left out. This is about forgetting outside rivalries and training together against a common enemy, right? Nico, Piper, avoid the Quidditch team like the plague or we'll lose you to them."

"A terrible loss, I'm sure," someone muttered, though Harry heard with pleasure the sound of them being slapped upside the head.

He clasped his hands together.

"Right. Well, I think this went really well. I'll see you next time!"

There was a noisy clamour as everyone scrambled to get to their belongings, previously abandoned on the sides, clambering over cushions and rushing back to join friends to gush about their progress that night. Harry was immediately waylaid by Ron and Hermione, who were respectively trying to crow about their victories and congratulate him with the way the evening had gone, but a tap on his shoulder made him turn around.

It was Percy. He had a few of his friends behind him, including Piper and Nico. Harry gave Percy a warm smile - he really liked the guy, for some reason, probably because he made fun of Trelawney _and _Umbridge and got away with it - and tried to do the same to the Slytherins, scolding himself when he felt his defences raise a little. His wariness was natural after years of enduring taunts and jabs from their House, he knew, but these two were still fairly new and - in theory - not in any way tainted by the reputation of their housemates.

"Hey man, congrats on tonight," Percy said with a smile. "It was really cool. I think even Piper the pacifist managed to get it in the end, didn't you Pipes?"

The girl nodded and smiled so warmly at Harry that he felt his insides almost turn to water. Distantly, his mind registered this as somewhat surprising: usually only Cho did that to him. Her eyes were very pretty; he couldn't tell what colour they were, and her voice sounded like a song he knew...

"...never done anything like that before, especially as I'm no good at physical fighting usually, but you're a really good teacher."

Hermione stepped on his foot and Harry snapped out of it. Next to him, Ron jumped a little as well. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Er... Thanks. You did great. Everyone did. Um... Percy, was there anything you needed...?" he asked awkwardly, turning away from Piper a little. Bloody hell, if she talked to Umbridge like that when she reported to her, the girl would end up the Hogwarts princess within the month.

Percy had been smirking at Harry and his friends, maybe a little too knowingly, but he became more serious at Harry's enquiry.

"Yes, actually," he answered, his expression now a little more grim. "Nico told us something that happened to him, which you definitely need to know about..."

Harry listened in alarm and slight horror as Nico related his meeting with Snape in the dungeons. The context of the tale was somewhat vague - Harry recognised at once the narrative style of someone deliberately skirting around the subject - but the essence of it was clear and thoroughly alarming.

"I bloody knew it!" Ron fumed when Nico fell silent, "That bastard can read minds!"

Harry agreed, but a few other people were present in the room and within possible earshot, so he motioned for Ron to quiet down.

"This is really serious," he intoned to the others, who had formed a circle around him. Harry absently ran a hand through his hair, already messy from the exertions of of the past hour and now positively broom-like. "I never expected anything like this."

"The question is, how do we deal with it?" Hermione posed, biting her lip. "Do we tell everyone in the DA and risk Snape noticing something's off?"

"Of course we tell them," came Annabeth's immediate answer. "They need to learn very quickly to be careful what they're thinking whenever they're in proximity of Snape. The DA's spread across three years and all four Houses - and we probably _all _take Potions. That multiplies Snape's chances of noticing odd thoughts from his students."

Hermione was nodding even before Annabeth finished, frowning thoughtfully.

"All right... Yes, that makes sense. But we need a way of reaching everyone at once, preferably not by human messengers or even owls. We need our own method, as inconspicuous as possible..."

She withdrew from the group, deeply in thought and muttering to herself, dodging Angelina as she went. The Quidditch captain had lingered back a little, and was talking animatedly to Jason and Hazel - something about noticing their quick reflexes and wanting them on the reserve teams of both their houses. Percy drew Harry to one side, dragging Annabeth and Piper with him.

"There's something else," he said even more quietly. "Piper told us about her first meeting with Umbridge when she told her about the DA, and that damn harpy has more tricks up her sleeves than a six-armed magician."

"She's using blackmail to control Piper." Annabeth summed up grimly. "Umbridge knows Piper's close to us even if she acts differently, so she's using that as proof that she's also involved in any resistance trouble _we _get in."

"Guilt by association," Harry said, nodding and scowling. God, this was getting much more complex than he expected. He was a Defense tutor, for Merlin's sake, not M!

"And Umbridge made it clear to Piper that if she even _thinks _of lying to her or shirking her new duties, then her friends - meaning all of us in the DA, by now - walk the plank." Percy explained.

Harry swore.

"Also, she expects a report on all our activities - meaning yours, ours, Ron's and Hermione's - twice a week." Piper added, looking guilty.

Harry swore louder.

* * *

**UPDATE: You know the drill. The chapter's title, _Aut Imiteris Aut Oderis_, means 'either imitate the world or loathe it'.**


	14. Castigat Ridendo Mores

**Chapter 14 - Castigat Ridendo Mores**

Over the next three days, Leo could honestly say that he'd never felt more proud.

Hogwarts was under his full control, and it felt amazing.

Since Umbridge's decree, the students were in anarchy. The delicious irony of it all was that for the first time in ages, at least a good three quarters of the student population were completely united with a single goal, and the cause of it was the one who had intended to keep it divided in the first place. Part of it was due to rage at the fact that the woman was now interfering in their free time and leisure activities, but most of it was the desire to see her _break_.

And that was something Leo could certainly do.

He'd put to good use all his purchases from Zonko's. Teachers all around the school were wondering why students now handed in their homework written in glittery ink, pink for girls and blue for the boys. When asked, the students pulled confused and apologetic faces, explaining that it was Professor Umbridge who had asked them to do so. There appeared to be conflicting theories over the causes of the phenomenon, ranging from a 'mark of respect for Professor Umbridge', to 'made compulsory by Umbridge' and 'Peeves usurped the stationery room'. In any case, the mystery kept the identity of the prankster secret, and no-one was going to complain after they saw Umbridge stamp her foot and demand an explanation from her confused colleagues.

Nevertheless, within a few hours the Weasley twins sussed out who was behind it and cornered Leo on the way to Transfiguration to congratulate him. Upon remembering the twins' own adeptness at setting traps and pranks - not to mention their nearly unrivalled knowledge of the Hogwarts layout - Leo struck a deal with them.

While the son of Hephaestus was the mastermind behind the operations, Fred and George were the ones with the real flair for dramatics - and they knew how to make the most of Hogwarts' incredibly efficient rumour and gossip machines. For instance, the morning after the first day the Decree had taken effect, Umbridge entered the Great Hall and every single student stood up to attention, their backs straight, eyes up ahead and hands down by their sides. Perfectly orchestrated, they did not sit down until Umbridge hesitantly took her seat, looking around for something she had undoubtedly missed.

Even the Slytherins joined in, hastily getting up from their seats as they saw every other student in the room do so, fearful of having been left out of a new and highly important drill. Their worried expressions and panicky glances at each other - especially Malfoy, who was in no way used to having matters out of his control - were almost as sweet as Umbridge's bemusement.

"And the best part is," Annabeth had gloated in a whisper to Leo after everyone had resumed eating breakfast as though it were perfectly normal, "they can't just _not _do it, or it'll look disrespectful!"

All Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students were instructed by their ringleaders to conduct this military-style salute every single time Umbridge entered or left a room. And what was more, to do it without a smile, giggle, or sign that they were anything other than entirely respectful.

"She knows we're mocking her," Leo had said, his eyes aflame with genius mischief again, "so we have to make it look _proper _legit."

The result was an Umbridge who gulped every time she came into a room, for even after the initial surprise had worn off and she had started barking at the students to supply an explanation, they had taken to yelling back.

"YES SIR, PROFESSOR UMBRIDGE, SIR!" or "NO SIR, PROFESSOR, SIR!", or even "DON'T KNOW SIR, MA'AM, SIR!"

It was cliché, and militarily incorrect - no one in the forces _ever _addressed their superiors like that, Thalia assured them, rolling her eyes - but extremely satisfying. After putting five consecutively answering students in detention for 'blatant disrespect' and 'unnecessary loudness', Umbridge got no closer to the answer and within a day and a half had resolved to sticking her chin out everywhere she walked, as though daring anyone to spot any intimidation on her toady features, and taking three steps back every time she asked a student a question.

Soon, the nature of said detentions became apparent, and after comforting a crying, bleeding second-year one afternoon, Annabeth put her proverbial foot down. Harry Potter's quiet admission that blood quills had indeed been Umbridge's preferred method of punishment during his own detentions with her caused the daughter of Athena's usually stern grey eyes to come alight with something much more stimulating than indignation: it was the fury of a girl whose intellect far outstripped Umbridge's ego, and would see her go to hell twice as far as the usual route required. She immediately contacted Hermione Granger and a couple of people from her own house, Terry Boot and Marius Fell, to put their heads together and compile a legal case against Umbridge. Leo was right: the Ministry had chosen this woman for a reason, and those four brilliant minds were going to find out _why_.

Meanwhile, Leo had been organising pranks of a more technical nature, the kind he even kept secret from the twins. This was because he chose to specifically use what little godly tech he still had left in his tool-belt to alter and improve various items around the castle. It was tricky, because his understanding and practice of magic was still a little shaky, but thankfully his tech did most of the supernatural work for him. So far, his inventions included a tricky little programme that expanded and set itself against Umbridge's blackboard, adapting its appearance and texture to match it exactly, and transformed her words into complete gibberish every time she wrote on its surface. After having proclaimed the Minister for Magic a "purple bunch of painted troglodytes" and Wilbert Slinkhard's book a "lily-livered meatball of raining crackers", Umbridge gave up and instead had them take notes by diction.

He had also been working on perfecting the Valdezingitis, though the poor thing was having a tough time keeping up with demand. Umbridge was never seen nowadays without a thick layer of makeup on her face to conceal the pustules, but she'd apparently found an effective coughing relief, and the itchiness that was supposed to drive her crazy had instead made her a master of self-control. Leo was disappointed at first, but then decided that it was an opportunity for new and brighter ideas. Indeed, now he was busy programming it to cause other unfortunate bodily functions. He couldn't wait to try it out. Rumour had it there was another decree on the way, to stop students from sneezing or coughing in public. Leo rather thought he could enact the zygote version of his new gadget at Umbridge's introduction of it at dinner.

He pushed himself back from his desk, brushing his unruly hair out of his eyes and blowing out his cheeks as he exhaled a great puff of air. Destroying Umbridge was fun, but surprisingly demanding in time and effort. He needed a break.

He swung around on his chair, looking up at the great vaulted ceiling of the Room of Requirement.

This room was amazing. It was literally the most wonderfully versatile place Leo had ever seen, and that included his father's workshop, Archimedes' lab, and Hogwarts herself. The Room of Requirement was like an extremely concentrated form of Hogwarts and all her weird magical sentience in a single place, but where things got interesting was that a) said 'place' was only singular to make it easier for the brain to understand, because b) there didn't seem to be many limits on the room's abilities, and c) the very thought of that made Leo's skin tingle like he was trying out one of his mother's old bath bombs (which he secretly loved even when he was tiny).

The potential of this room was absolutely incredible, maybe even infinite. Leo's mind crawled with ideas even as he stared around him. How far did the spatial limits of this room go? Could it imitate the exterior? If magic controlled what went on inside it, did time always work the same way within the confines of these walls, or was that programmable too?

He'd been spending a lot of time in this room since he'd first seen it at their first DA meeting. Fred and George had explained the concept behind it - that it provided you with anything you needed - and Leo's mind had been in a state of absolute revolution since.

_So, when you say 'need', is that the fairytale definition of need, like, only a pure, strong hero needs to pull a sword out of a stone kind of need, or is it your everyday sort of need, like the toilet or a spare pen?_

_Also how d'you tell the room what you need, does it read your mind? Especially as you're not actually inside the room when you're asking for it - you're on the doorstep, really. Does that mean you can ask for stuff when you're halfway down the corridor, too? _

_What about on the other side of the school? If you were in your common room and asked the room to be the size of the lake, you'd be effectively be... uh, sort of on top of the room, like in another dimension, 'cause a room that size would flatten the entirety of Hogwarts. _

_And...yeah, that's cool, but how does it actually _work_? Mind-reading?_

There seemed to be a lot of mind-reading around in the magical world. Nico's story had freaked Leo out a little, he had to admit. That Potions professor was a nasty piece of work, and whoever had put him in charge of children had been completely desperate, or not too bright, or then again maybe a complete genius because who cared about the little things in life when you were busy planning the way the world went? _Ten points to Dumbledore, that's who._

Maybe there was a way of countering Snape and Dumbledore's repeated attempts to intrude upon their pupils' mental privacy. A magical way was clearly out of the question; Annabeth had made a few vaguely dark references to Occlumency, but it turned out it was a whole discipline and took years to learn and perfect. They didn't have the years, nor the expertise needed to guide them through it. No, what they needed was an effective and immediate counter-mindreader, something that worked all the time and preferably needed no trigger to do so.

Nico had mentioned that Snape _physically _could not read Nico's mind. Leo wondered if that was due to the natural way Nico's brain was formed, or if the phenomenon was due to something else. If the guy had a natural ability to deflect such advances and Leo could pinpoint what it was, maybe there could be a way of replicating it.

Muggle medicine was his main point of reference at this point, and even Leo had to admit that he was on shaky ground with that considering how well anything muggle worked around magic. But some things were universal, so for example if Nico's immunity was chemical - say, a certain over-produced hormone in his brain - then an implant, or a vaccine, as it were, physically injected into people's bodies...

Leo shook his head. He was definitely no expert. Better leave that to people who actually knew how good their chances were. Besides, there was nothing at the moment that suggested Nico's closed-mindedness to Snape was anything like natural or biological. Maybe the guy was just really good at controlling and suppressing what he thought.

Still, all those theories involving experts and professionals and the need for guidance reminded Leo of another, more neglected side of Chiron's plans: allies. They'd made contact with a few people here, but those had been mostly accidental, and a bunch of dead people, watery fangirls, and a crazy Scottish wildman would only help them so far in the coming war against Voldemort.

Leo looked around. Could this room help them contact people - their demigod/mythological sort of people - and call for their help? It was worth a try. Maybe he could even experiment in the whole magic/tech compatibility issue again. What would he give for an hour alone with the internet! Annabeth had received her laptop from Chiron, he knew, and it was much more powerful than any muggle machine she could have brought with her. He could ask to borrow it and start running and testing theories as soon as possible.

Right now, Leo was sitting in what for all intents and purposes appeared to be Bunker Nine, the only differences being the exasperating absence of electrical current, and that of all his ongoing projects (which he knew, if a little sadly, were still at home in camp) and his siblings. He missed Nyssa and her tomboyish walk, and Beckendorf's amazing bed, and even the smells of old takeaway cartons which people had forgotten to throw away because they were so caught up in their work.

Leo sighed.

Now, where was he again? Oh, yeah - the Valdezingitis.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

It is a well-known fact that the words _Hell hath no fury like that of a woman scorned_ are a well-known fact, and no-one knew that fact better than Argus, the hundred-eyed guard of Camp Half-Blood.

Not because he was a cynic, or much of a romantic, or even really a misogynist, but because if he had to pick the worthier opponent between two oncoming forces, chances were he'd pick the female one first to deal with it quickly while he still had his strength and chances, and worry about the other (potentially male) one later on.

Females were just generally more vicious, especially when they were angry. Maybe it came from their motherly instinct to protect their young, or maybe because they didn't have the inconvenience of testicles (which despite popular culture's insistence were actually very weak and sensitive) and were free to spit and snarl and shriek without running the risk of well-aimed kicks or accusations of overreacting (for those who would accuse her of doing so were also the ones doing the running away and hiding from her).

Argus scratched his chin, carefully avoiding poking himself in the eye, and tried to think of a female he wouldn't be wary of confronting.

His mistress and creator, Hera, wouldn't of course be anywhere near the list - that fine lady could show anyone the price of messing with respectable goddesses, and prettily remind you of your manners as she did so.

Then there was Annabeth Chase, whom Argus had known since she was small and cute, when she could barely use her knife without giving everyone in the vicinity a paper-cut. But of course now she was all grown up and repeatedly saving the world, so she wouldn't be featuring on the list any time soon.

Argus continued to scratch his chin, frowning. The Hecate girls, Demeter's daughters, Ares' girls (who only vaguely looked female, granted, but Argus was being fair about his assessment), those Roman girl soldiers over the summer... They could all kick ass fairly well, and even that six-year-old Aphrodite kid with bunches made Argus nervous when she was holding a mascara brush and standing too close to him.

Holy Hera, this list was even shorter than he'd thought!

Anyway, why had he been thinking all this?

Oh yeah, because the Roman chief chick - Queenie, or something - had just arrived and was vaulting off her pegasus, with obsidian daggers in her eyes and a terseness in her movements that rather made her look like she was in 'a bit of a temper'.

She stopped to pat her mount in thanks, gave it a piece of sugar, and marched up the path to the big house as it took off again and made for the stables. It was a very windy day, and the gale made the Roman girl's purple cloak billow and whip around her. On anyone else here it would have looked like they'd just decided to wear a bedsheet around their neck (and regretting it as soon as they stepped outside), but she was Roman and clearly on a mission, so it just gave her the look of an avenging military goddess (and Argus would know).

She continued to march towards Chiron's residence, finally breaking into a brisk jog when it appeared to be taking far too long for her fragile patience. She arrived, apparently not even out of breath, and hammered on the door of the house, yelling something Argus couldn't hear because of the wind.

He shook his head, tears streaming past his face as the wind made his many eyes water up.

Chiron was gonna have hell to pay, and the poor guy likely didn't even know it yet.

0o0o0o0o0o0

Reyna hammered the door with her fist, yelling at the top of her voice, propriety be damned.

She was seething, and for once she didn't care what others saw. She could feel the anger flare up, more than ever now that she was safely dismounted from her pegasus (because to have an extremely angry passenger was to a flying horse a bit like a teenager having his entire family in the car he was driving for the first time - it was that level of pressure).

How _dare _Chiron do this to her? How dare he spend most of the summer making plans with her for their Graeco-Roman alliance, and then pull this sneaky, underhanded stunt on her?

But the worst bit wasn't that he hadn't told her about his plans, oh no, it was that he had involved some of her closest friends - from the legion itself - and proceeded to use them like he would his own pupils, never even considering the impact it could have on Camp Jupiter.

Reyna felt betrayed. There was no other word for it.

Finally, the door was opened by a very annoyed-looking Chiron and Reyna pushed her way in before the surprise could even register on his bearded face, not even bothering to avoid stepping on his hoofs. Bastard.

"Reyna?" Chiron said, completely taken aback. "I had no idea you were coming-"

"I know," Reyna said shortly, not trusting herself to speak too much right now, lest she start yelling. "That was the idea."

"Ah." Chiron said delicately, closing the door again and shutting off the cold wind.

Reyna almost shivered. Well, she was glad out be out of that gale, at least.

Without preamble, which wasn't entirely her style, she blurted out "What the hell d'you think you're playing at?"

Chiron glanced over his shoulder. He was clip-clopping into the living room, where a fire was crackling attractively in the fireplace.

"Apparently not a game you approve of," he said simply, and Reyna appreciated that he was at least doing her the respect of keeping off the pretence.

"Then at least tell me the rules," she retorted.

The old centaur sighed as he lowered himself into his special chair. He seemed to be in pain, and his joints audibly cracked, even as they were merrily imitated by the wood in the fireplace.

"Need I remind you that we are allies, Chiron?" Reyna went on when the centaur did not answer immediately. "We swore an oath of loyalty and friendship when Gaea was finally defeated. To me, that implies _not _sneaking around the other, keeping vital information from them and stealing their best assets!" she was almost shouting now, and Chiron only looked at her, his bushy face grave and solemn and wise in a way she knew she could never be, and vaguely resented that.

After another few seconds, Chiron clasped his hands together and spoke in his usual quiet, reasonable tones.

"I assure you I am not stealing anything from you or your legion, Reyna." he said. "It is not my place."

Reyna raised an eyebrow.

"No? You're telling me Frank Zhang - my fellow praetor - and Hazel Levesque are not out completing some mission _you _gave them? _Without _my knowledge or consent, might I add."

She fixed him with her stare, knowing that in the past it had often intimidated her opponents just as much as her words. This was a slightly shaky part in her plan of attack, for she knew nothing of where Frank and Hazel were. She suspected they were with Jason, who was always with Piper and his other new Greek friends, though she had no solid proof of anything of the sort. But Jason hadn't been returning her calls. And this morning she'd been to see someone who confirmed once and for all that something was up.

The prickle of betrayal was still there. Of all the emotions churning inside her, the betrayal was the worst, because Chiron hadn't been the only one causing it. She thought she'd fixed things with Jason. She thought she'd had in Frank Zhang a good and loyal partner. Reyna nearly snorted. She'd thought that much of everyone in the team of the Seven!

Chiron's expression sobered even more at her words.

"So you know about the mission." he surmised, not entirely correctly.

"I suspected." Reyna grudged. "And I suppose you've just confirmed it."

Chiron stared at her steadily, apparently aware that that was not the extent of it. She scowled at him.

"And I went to see Sally Jackson," she admitted, not liking that to him she probably sounded like a child justifying its actions, "who took me half an hour to convince that I wasn't an enemy. She told me her son had indeed disappeared, for a while now. That's the third person to have just taken off at the same time." she pointed out, her tone deliberately accusing.

They just stared at each other for a moment, girl versus centaur. Leader versus leader. One so old that the other still seemed a babe in comparison, the other still so angry that face to her the other only shrank.

"Do you have any idea what the absence of my soldiers is costing me?" she snapped.

Chiron had the grace to look a little ashamed, but still he met her tone with reasonable calm. He sat in his wheelchair the way a king's advisor sat next to his liege's throne: noble, courteously open, but as unyielding as the sceptre he held.

"Two soldiers will not make much of a difference to your ranks, surely; even if one is a praetor. You've managed alone before - and admirably, too."

She looked at him, unable to _believe _he was judging her ability to rule under pressure when he was the cause behind it.

"Two soldiers. You think that is what this is about? Chiron, those were _my _soldiers - _my _friends! They answer to me, their fellow Roman and military superior. Don't you dare tell me if I can or can't manage without them, don't - you - dare!" she hissed.

The old centaur leaned back in his chair a little, watching her as she seethed, finally a glint of wariness in his eye.

"How many are with them?" she asked, before she quite knew it.

"There are nine of them." Chiron answered quietly. "The original Seven, and Nico di Angelo accompanied them, along with Thalia Grace."

Reyna snorted. Of course they had. She tried to ignore the sting of jealousy and disappointment that kept wriggling away in her chest. So Jason and his friends _were _on a secret mission after all, once more leaving Reyna in the cold, blind darkness of ignorance.

For once, she thought bitterly before she could stop herself, couldn't I have gone too?

She was a praetor of the Twelfth Fulminata, a Roman and a leader in her own right. Why couldn't the gods place in her the same amount of trust they placed in that goofball Percy Jackson and his motley crew of friendly companions?

But no, she was a praetor - _the _praetor, now, _again _\- and she had the legion to hold and to run. She couldn't afford to leave her soldiers, the camp, the senate or the forum. They needed her - or rather, Camp Jupiter needed her physical presence there. Octavian had been one power-hungry maverick, and though he was gone political wolves were everywhere; there were several members of the senate who would like nothing better than proof of their praetor defecting (_again_, she thought bitterly) in times when she was needed more than ever. Camp Jupiter was still enduring ongoing reparations, and thus was still vulnerable - to onslaught, but also to internal strife.

Chiron appeared to have had a similar thought.

"Shouldn't you be at Camp Jupiter? Can they manage without you?"

She shot him a dirty look.

"Evidently, they will be forced to manage while I discover why the figurehead of our closest allies has decided not only to work behind our backs, but against us!"

Chiron started, looking truly alarmed for the first time.

"Against you?" he repeated, his eyes wide. "My dear child, no! Of course not. What causes you to think that?"

Reyna stopped pacing (she hadn't even noticed that she'd started doing it, though the live leopard that served as a rug was certainly snarling at her as she repeatedly stomped on his spots) and faced the centaur. She gave a high, humourless laugh.

"Why? Haven't I said already? Oh, but it doesn't matter what _I_ think." she said, her tone light and biting. "It's what the senate will think when I return - or maybe they are debating even as we speak, since my presence won't have gone unnoticed for long. Our second praetor has disappeared without word for _months _\- sound familiar? Another of our soldiers, who happens to be his girlfriend, has likewise gone AWOL, and the last place either of them were seen alive was here. Not to mention," she said venomously, "that repeated attempts of contact with them have been continuously redirected to this camp - _Greek _territory, who until two months ago, as I'm sure you'll remember, were still considered the least trustworthy people on earth."

She paused, seething once more, then straightened her back for she had been leaning forward towards Chiron, who looked aghast at this sudden turn of events. Ah, the bliss of ignorance, Reyna thought with no small amount of venom. Even the old and venerable weren't safe from its honeyed clutches.

"But no, surely they'll dismiss all that," she said, her tone sweet now. "Instead, they'll focus on how their remaining praetor - poor, stupid Reyna with her Graeco-Roman co-operation dreams - has now also abandoned the people in her charge while Camp Jupiter is still weak, all in an attempt to find out what the hell is going on. Those greedy and power-hungry old men of the senate would _never _try to get her off the pedestal and attempt, oh I don't know, to put an _emperor _in her place - oh no, _never_." her voice was so laden with sarcasm that she was surprised it wasn't dripping from her tongue.

"What?" breathed Chiron. "What are you talking-"

"I'm saying that Octavian wasn't the first, and he certainly won't be the last. He was just the right guy at the right time, with the right ideas and the right motives - not to mention the lineage." Her dark eyes found Chiron's once more. "The emperors of Rome were widely believed to have been part-god. Why do you think Octavian got so much support? He was only a legacy, true enough, but he was descended from Augustus Caesar himself, and displaying exactly the sort of talents Augustus did when Julius Caesar was murdered by his friends. The similarities were astonishing, the senate couldn't believe their eyes. It was almost as though Augustus, the first ever Roman emperor, had been-" her eyes glittered, though she didn't know it, "- reborn."

Chiron stared at her, agape.

"But, surely... I mean, Octavian is _gone _now."

Reyna snorted. "Oh yeah, _he's _gone. But he wasn't the only legacy, and half of Camp Jupiter can claim descent from some emperor or another." she pressed her fists on the wooden table near Chiron's chair, and breathed out heavily. "The original Roman republic was overturned because the popular assemblies meant less and less, to the point where Caesar managed to practically _declare _himself emperor, in practice if not in name. Worse even, there were several institutions that legitimised the choice of an individual as emperor: military glory, lineage, regional power, imperial connections..." she waved a hand expressively and started pacing again. "Imagine if the senate affirmed its authority, deposed of the office of praetorship, and actually _elected _an emperor. It's been done before - for purveyors of the original profession of law, the Romans could be flexible in legal procedures when it suited them." she said bitterly. She'd spent hours studying the history of ancient Rome last year in Jason's absence, looking for expert guidance among the dusty scrolls that told of the exploits of Cicero, Pliny the Younger and Emperor Trajanus.

"It would give him enormous prestige, and automatic legitimacy, not to mention widespread loyalty. The legion would have to swear allegiance to him, as in the days of old - as in the Roman way."

Chiron looked shocked. Clearly, he had not fully considered the impact of Frank Zhang's absence or the trouble he was leaving her in.

Reyna came to stand directly in front of him.

"I want you to tell me exactly what is going on, and not to leave _anything _out, or the deal is off." Her eyes were pools of obsidian rock - sharp and pitiless. "No alliance. No friendship. The senate is deeply divided at the moment - too many of them are still eager for war. But I go back to Camp Jupiter, I rally myself some united support by exposing the machinations of our treacherous ally, and I can easily declare war on our traditional enemies the Greeks - Frank Zhang or no Frank Zhang. Our defences may not be as strong as they were a year ago, but they'll hold against a rabble of treacherous Greeks."

"Reyna-" Chiron looked very alarmed now, his features still showing the shock of Reyna's ultimatum.

His noble features looking so desperate struck a chord in Reyna, and for a split-second her stony resolve faltered a little. Who was she to speak to him like she was his superior, or even his equal? She'd heard _legends _about this guy, who was older than Rome itself, and they were practically part of her (admittedly messed-up) childhood's bedtime stories. But then the centaur's face smoothed, like he was consciously reminding himself that she was an angry teenager - nothing more - and Reyna felt her determination harden once more. She scowled at him as he searched for the right words and tried again, holding her gaze like he could see nothing else.

"Don't do anything like that. Believe me when I say that would be the very worst thing to do!" he said gravely, the urgency in his voice clear. "Please, I... I _cannot _tell you, though I wish I could. The gods would not approve... - wait! Believe me, I'm not doing this to save my own skin!" he added in a rush, grabbing her wrist when her gaze hardened and she made a move to leave.

"Yes, I gave them all a mission," he said, quickly and in a lowered voice, like he was suddenly afraid of being overheard - Reyna had rarely seen anyone looking so urgent - "but it was the _Oracle _who issued it. A prophecy was made, and it explicitly cited those nine demigods as its subjects. Reyna, they chose to go of their own accord." his eyes were boring into hers, pleading for her to understand. "My role was to guide them as I could and warn them of any dangers I knew of. I swear on the Styx none of our - none of _my _actions were taken with the intention of harming or slighting you."

Reyna stared at him a moment more, then shook her wrist free and turned away, troubled. Chiron, elusive bastard though he'd been the past month or so, was telling the truth, she knew it. Even without her two loyal Aurum and Argentum she could see it in his eyes. But why was he still refusing to tell her about the mission? Did he not trust her? Why was everyone making it their business to keep her in the dark about everything?

That piqued her anger again, and she turned back to Chiron.

"Be that as it may, your intentions have backfired. I cannot stop the senate from drawing the wrong conclusions any more than you can, unless I understand exactly what is at stake." she paused and looked him squarely in the eye. "What, exactly, is worth risking civil war again?"

Chiron's eyes didn't leave her face as he stared at her, still oh-so-gravely.

"You don't understand, this is so much more than you could imagine..."

"Then enlighten me," Reyna commanded, the authority of Bellona ringing clear in her voice.

Chiron shook his head, with such sadness and pity in his eyes that she felt like hitting him, but a soft footfall sounded in the doorway behind her. Reyna whirled around to see a red-headed girl standing there, her green eyes wide and her hair looking like she enjoyed sticking her fingers in electrical sockets.

Chiron made a noise of surprise, and judging from his expression was about to tell the girl to leave, but Reyna held up a hand.

"Who are you?" she demanded of the girl. She looked a little familiar, and Reyna knew she had met her before, but couldn't quite place the where nor the when.

The read-head scratched her head with a paintbrush, then gave Reyna a tentative smile, a small light of recognition in her eyes also.

"Rachel Dare." (Ah, so she was the girl who had passed on Annabeth Chase's message from Tartarus. She remembered now.) "I was wondering what all the shouting was about, and if I could help tone it down a little. Loud vibrations and air disturbances are disruptive to the artistic mind." she explained, far more kindly than she had any cause to considering Reyna was glaring at her like she'd interrupted a senate meeting.

Before Reyna could respond, Rachel walked over to Chiron and sat down on the arm of his chair. Despite the cold windy weather, the girl wore only a flannel shirt and denim mini-shorts. Apart from a few streaks of blue and green paint, her feet and legs completely bare. Gathering and pinning her hair up with her long paintbrush, Rachel glanced at Reyna, then at Chiron, then at Reyna again.

"Well, sorry to have killed the mood." she said in a jaunty tone.

"Rachel... Reyna and I were just discussing the absence of Percy and the others," Chiron explained uneasily. "You needn't involve yourself in-"

"Let her stay," Reyna said suddenly. "I would hear her opinion. Since I gather _she _is also aware of the situation, yes?"

Every-freaking-body knew, she thought bitterly. Why not the strange girl with paint marks on her legs and cold-resistant soles?

Rachel Dare smirked.

"Well yes, but only because I'm the one who caused it."

Reyna's sharp glance of surprise at this made the girl laugh out loud, causing several red curls to tumble out of her hasty bun.

"I'm the Oracle of Delphi, remember?" she explained, then caught herself. "Well, no - I'm more of an embodiment of it. I issue the prophecies from time to time, when my teachers and schoolmates aren't looking."

Reyna stared.

"You're mortal." she surmised.

The girl nodded.

"Yep. Very much so. The Mist never had any effect on me, though. That's how I met Percy: he was trying to run away from some monsters near a dam and I got caught in the crossfire."

Reyna felt like she'd been sidestepped in some way.

"So... what is your view on this mission?" she asked, trying to stay on ground she was familiar with.

Rachel cocked her head, considering her with open curiosity.

"Honestly? I've no idea. I personally don't remember what I said - that's the way it always is when I issue a prophecy - but Chiron tells me it was kinda weird, especially the way it was formed - what?" she said, in response to Chiron shooting her a warning glance. "The poor girl's been in the dark long enough. This whole secrecy thing is getting old."

"It is in place for several excellent reasons," Chiron reminded her stiffly.

"Meaning?" Reyna prompted.

Rachel looked down at Chiron with a deadpan stare, and crossed her arms.

"If you don't tell her, I will." she warned.

The old centaur groaned and sank his face into his hands. "This is exactly what I was afraid of when I told the others," he moaned. "Don't women know the meaning of the word 'secret'?"

"Yep," Rachel said, popping the 'p', "_A fact or piece of information typically known to few people, usually told by each holder to one other person_. You told it to the others, now I'm telling Reyna. It's costing her a lot more than anyone else at the moment."

Reyna shot her a sharp glance, and Rachel winked.

"I have sharp hearing, and you weren't exactly being quiet about it."

There was silence for a long while that seemed like ages to Reyna. Chiron didn't raise his head from his hands, but after another long moment, slowly, he nodded once.

"But let me explain," he requested, and Rachel acquiesced.

He turned to face Reyna, who was standing in the middle of the room, her hand on the pommel of her sword due to nervous habit, almost trembling in anticipation of this knowledge so secret that Chiron had been risking war to keep from them all. Would it be another primal deity trying to rise from the depths of hell? Was it a conspiracy among the evildoers of mythology? Were the gods in trouble again?

Chiron hesitated a few seconds more before speaking, but speak he did, in a tone so flat and expressionless that Reyna almost accused him of mocking her.

When he finished telling her, Reyna blinked.

...

Ten minutes later, she was collapsed in one of Chiron's regular leather armchairs, her chin on a clenched fist, staring dazedly into the fire.

The centaur and the girl perched on his wheelchair were looking at her carefully, gauging her reaction but also avoiding staring at her face too much, like they were afraid she was going to explode again.

But all righteous fire had extinguished itself in Reyna. She continued to stare at the merry little flames, wishing she had half their energy and sprightliness. She felt so drained in the current moment in time that not even her tattered status at home felt important.

"So there's a magical world." she said, dully.

Chiron nodded.

"Hidden from mor-... Muggles."

Another nod.

"And Jason and Frank are trying to defeat the evil wizard who wants to take over this world."

And another.

"By attending a magical school."

Here, Chiron hesitated, but Rachel nodded confidently.

"That's the long and short of it." she answered. "Pretty cool, huh?"

Reyna didn't even answer. She just stared at the fire.

Chiron leaned forward a little, rubbing his hands and licking his lips anxiously.

"Reyna, I know this is all a shock, but you must realise this mission is of the utmost importance - not to mention secrecy. The sheer _risks _involved, and the danger if they are discovered... Surely now you can see why no-one else can-"

Reyna's dark eyes swivelled to look at him again, and Chiron's voice died in his throat when he saw the scorn in them.

"Utmost importance?" she said. She was so tired of all of this that her voice barely went above a whisper. "You're telling me that some unknown society somewhere in this world is in danger of being overrun by one of its members, and suddenly that's our highest priority?"

She turned her gaze back to the fire.

"Our best soldiers, one of our leaders, our most experienced friends - gone to save an imaginary world."

"It's not imaginary-"

"It is to everyone else," Reyna cut across Rachel. "They don't know about it, they've _never _known about it. So even if this _secret _comes out," she spat the word, "that world will never cease to be imaginary. No-one will believe this."

Against all odds, Chiron looked relieved.

"So you won't tell the senate, or New Rome?"

Reyna shrugged.

"Well if I do, I'll immediately get demoted and prodded into our best psychiatrist's office."

She looked back up at the centaur, who was not hiding the relief on his face. Rachel was staring at Reyna with an unreadable expression, almost as though she were re-evaluating her, or possibly picturing her as a subject for a new painting.

"Do the rest of Camp Half-Blood know anything about this?"

Chiron shook his head, and Rachel replied.

"All they know is that Percy and a few others went on a quest, and that they didn't have time to say goodbye. Not all of them are happy about the prophecy not being as public as usual, but," she shrugged, "there isn't much they can do about it now."

"Have you had contact from them at all?"

Chiron nodded.

"They managed to IM me on their first day there, and we've communicated by wizard mail ever since. Apparently the magical interference there does not prevent our usual methods, but it's safer for them to stick to conventional means of communication."

"And they are all safe?"

"As far as we know, yes. Though it has been three days since Annabeth's last letter."

"I want to see it."

There was a beat, then Chiron opened up one the hidden compartments of his wheelchair, fished out a piece of curiously yellowed paper and handed it to Reyna without a word. She took it - her hand surprisingly steady given her current state of half stupor, half wary disbelief - and began to read the words. She recognised Annabeth's neat, square writing (a common feature in demigod handwriting, who usually found curly or round script as indecipherable as cloud patterns) and registered something about detentions and a ministry and someone called Dumbledore, but after a few seconds the words blurred and the lines merged into one another and Reyna stopped reading.

So it was true. She wasn't dreaming.

That didn't stop her mind from being curiously blank.

Then, _What in Jove's name am I going to tell the senate?_

"You know," Rachel piped up, "most people finding out that wizards and magic really do exist would be at least a little bit excited."

Reyna rubbed her face with her palm.

Oh, now wasn't she _just_?

0o0o0o0o0o0

Professor Severus Snape was troubled.

This was mostly because he also happened to be confused, and that did not happen often.

In fact the last time he remembered feeling confused was on that dark and lifeless night, the utter shock and confusion he'd felt following Albus' grave words. How could she be dead, he'd thought, when he had promised he would spare her? How could she be dead when she had the greatest so-called protection available? _How_, when the two greatest wizards alive had given him their word that she would live?

And then the truth had set in, and Albus had explained Lily's sacrifice for her son, and Snape's confusion evaporated to join Lily in the heavens, only to be replaced by the agony of grief and despair.

Thankfully, the source of Severus Snape's troubles today was entirely different.

The boy, di Angelo, was the reason Snape was sitting at his desk during class in the middle of the day, staring at the walls of the classroom instead of grading the papers in front of him.

Two conversations kept revolving in his mind. The one he'd recently had with his fellow heads of house, and the one he'd conducted the other day with the boy in the dungeons.

There was no way, Snape kept telling himself - trying to ignore the niggling voice of doubt - that a boy that young could have developed such powers of Occlumency without tutoring.

Snape had exaggerated slightly during the exchange: although di Angelo's mental defences were not complete, they were impressively strong and had been up surprisingly quickly, considering the boy had registered Snape's attempt to see his thoughts with complete surprise.

So he was not only a natural, he was also aware of it.

That in itself was rare: a natural occlumens usually had no idea that his mind was cloaked from all but himself.

But Snape's professionalism and own expertise were plucking away at his conclusions, unpicking the seams, examining the fineprint and casting them away one by one, again and again.

Because, Severus reminded himself sternly once more, natural occlumens were _absolute _in the concealment of their minds. They either cloaked them completely without even trying, or they were simply not naturals, but rather had undergone strict and rigorous training and then lied about it.

And Nico di Angelo had not been lying, he was sure of it. Working in this bloody school with an eccentric but genius crackpot for headmaster had not given him much in life, but it had given him experience as a teacher, and what kind of teacher couldn't immediately spot a student who was lying?

Somewhere in the classroom a cauldron exploded, splattering bright red potion against the walls and making several students shout out. Without even glancing up for a full look, Snape raised his arm and siphoned it all off with a flick of his wand. He was still so preoccupied with his thoughts that he ignored the student behind it - a mousy fourth-year who had been stupid enough to add the powdered limbs of a bowtruckle before making sure the river salts had completely dissolved.

If the boy had not undergone training, that meant the impressive abilities of mental concealment and control he possessed had been acquired through self-tutelage. And Snape knew for a fact that books were close to useless on disciplines like Occlumency, which meant the subject had to have suffered a great deal to get to that level. The subject had to _feel _a penetration of the mind, the disgust as someone else grew privy to their innermost thoughts, the rage that someone _dared _to intrude upon their most private sanctuary. They had to experience the revulsion, feel to the desire to revolt against this violation by gathering all their thoughts and cloaking them with dark nothingness.

There was no way a snotty teenager of today's over-protected first world could have endured that much, and yet he had seen Nico di Angelo do just that, at a mere touch to his mind from him.

Yes, Severus Snape was troubled.

Because he knew of only one other person who had picked up Occlumency on their own, to protect themselves from life and the players in it.

And Severus Snape had undergone hell up to his adult life before turning to the closed safety of Occlumency.

And Nico di Angelo was fifteen.

* * *

**EDIT: (clean up of a very long Author's Note, 31/05/2016)**

**Thanks to Risa Silvara, Anonymous and Finwitch1 for valid and interesting points I shall reflect on at length. (And also urs-v, who made me laugh!)**

**A summary of points:**

**\- ****Yes, I am aware Nico di Angelo came out as gay in the Blood of Olympus, and I'm keeping him that way.**** He rolled his eyes at the mention of dormitory gender separation because he knew exactly how Dumbledore was going to interpret the others' reaction to that, and he was flustered by the girl in the painting in the same way that a straight person would be flustered if a gay person paid them too much attention. That's all.**

**\- Someone meekly asked if they could have the chapter titles in English. I personally quite like them in Latin, so I went back and included a translation for each one at the end of each chapter. They're all famous phrases, anyway. T****his chapter's title, _Castigat Ridendo Mores_, approximately means (because Latin's a tricky bastard) 'customs are corrected by laughing at them'.**

**\- Thank you so much for all the feedback. The only thing I'd ask would be to include a mail address if you're a guest reviewer asking questions, otherwise I can't get back to you. Also, when typing said address, make sure to write it thus: something DOT gibberish AT geemail DOT com, or this site will automatically delete it.**

**\- Updates. Sorry, I suck at being regular with those. I write chapters as I go along, not being one of those incredibly organised authors who write the whole thing and then give it to you piecemeal. **

**\- The issue of which-demigod-belongs-in-which-house has been brought up again. Yes, I know Percy is loyal enough to go into Hufflepuff. I also know Piper isn't manipulative or particularly ambitious enough to be a true Slytherin. But like in every PJ-goes-to-Hogwarts fic, it's all a matter of interpretation, and unlike eleven year-olds, our heroes are nearly adults with fully-fledged personalities, values and life experience. Sorting them is nowhere near as simple as sorting prepubescent children, half of whom have lived very secluded lives. I suspect that if the Sorting Hat did exist, it would agree with my dilemma. So, with all possible gratitude and respect, I would ask you not to further question my choices on this particular matter. I've given it a great deal of thought, and each placement will have repercussions in the future plot.**

**Anyway, I hope to see you all soon for the next chapter! (not that it's even written yet)**


	15. Fiat Voluntas Deorum

**Chapter 15 - Fiat Voluntas Deorum**

"Harry, look, I'm doing it - I'm... Oh, for Hades' sake."

They were at their fourth DA meeting, and a very frustrated Percy shoved his wand back in his pocket in disgust as his friends looked on in sympathy. His shield spell had been strong enough to keep Annabeth's Reductor curse from shattering the empty shelves they were using as targets, but then he'd lost concentration for a split-second, and the shield lifted, letting Annabeth's own strong spell sweep aside Percy's like it was mist.

Hazel put her own wand away and stretched her neck, twisting and turning her head, wincing a little as the tight muscles protested. They'd been at this exercise for over half-an-hour, and even non-corporeal magic was surprisingly tiring.

Harry came over to offer some words of advice. Hazel watched in amusement as he struggled to find a differently-worded version of 'it's fine, just keep practicing', like he'd been doing ever since their first session.

"Listen, it's all right," he was saying, "you've got the hang of it now; all you need to work on is how to keep it constant."

"But it _was _constant." Percy argued, looking dejected. "For a whole three seconds, at least."

Harry fought back a smile.

"Well, more practice and next time it'll be ten seconds, won't it?" he said brightly.

Percy blew out air through his cheeks.

"I thought magic was supposed to be a shortcut to everything." he said. "Why does it take ages to learn?"

"Nothing comes by itself, Seaweed Brain." Annabeth answered, her smile grim around the edges. "Even breathing was a painful lesson when we were newborns."

"Not for me, it wasn't." Percy muttered.

Harry looked at him curiously, but a second later the Patil twins yelled for his assistance and he hurried to their side (they'd managed to set someone's hair on fire) preventing him from commenting.

Percy flopped down on one of the cushions.

"I'm dog-tired." he said, groaning a little. "I miss sword-fighting."

Thalia raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that just as demanding?"

Percy shook his head, his eyes closed. "Nah. That's all physical. This stuff drains at your mind, you know? All that concentration, that _intent_, that recalling of all the individual spells... Aw, hell, I'd make a crap magician's apprentice."

"Aren't we magicians' apprentices already?" Frank remarked, amused.

"Whatever." Percy muttered, passing a hand over his eyes. "I'm just tired."

The lilac shadows under his eyes and his uncharacteristic bad mood did not belie his words. They were all a little short of sleep, truth be told. Last night had been spent composing a report to Chiron - on paper, since they had deemed it too risky to recruit Myrtle's services late at night - and discussing what their next moves would be.

Annabeth was still adamant that some of the teachers - especially Dumbledore - suspected them to be rather more than they appeared.

"The only positive thing about that," she'd said with a grim look of satisfaction, "is that they all hate Umbridge too much to involve her in the process."

Yes, it did seem as though Dolores Umbridge suspected the demigods of nothing but the usual shenanigans of mischievous students. That did not mean to say that she cut them any slack: Piper had already given three reports on Harry and Co.'s activities, and each time had come back the worse for wear. But at least they were, in Umbridge's mind, nothing more than a few, pesky, normal Hogwarts students.

Teacher suspicion aside however, the most difficult aspect of their mission at present was that, put simply, they had no idea what to do next. Chiron had given them a mission, which was to protect Harry Potter. Well, considering the guy had just set up a defence practice group, safety-wise he was probably on the right track, and the demigods were feeling rather redundant: the boy didn't seem to be in any more danger than usual, so what could they do to improve that? This was a school after all, there was only so much that could happen - yes, even in an magic academy where everything moved or talked or was intent on getting a bite out of you.

The next part of the mission was trickier still. '_Find Harry Potter's friends and enemies, make allies of them if you can. Establish contact with creatures from our world_.'

Where allies were concerned, they had the ghosts on their side, they had Harry himself and his closest friends, the DA, the Asrai, and possibly Jack O'Kent - though gods knew what he was doing - and they even had an unwitting Umbridge being slowly reeled into their net.

Hazel supposed that their next task ought to be to make contact with more people from their world, creatures of myth and legend. This was Europe, where Hazel and her friends' own divine parents had originally come from, a land so rich in myths and folklore that American tales of Bigfoot and Wendigos paled in comparison. And while Greece and Italy were considerably far away, Great Britain was by no means poor in lore either: these were the lands of King Arthur, Merlin, the Morrigan, Leprechaun, and Beowulf.

If wizards were real, Hazel had no doubt that those latter deities and creatures existed as well. Maybe all it took to obtaining their alliance was finding them... And if nobody had seen them for so long, as they reportedly hadn't, then perhaps they were part of the world Hecate had shielded from view all those centuries ago.

But the demigods had already seen - and conversed with - a few people who were supposedly invisible to this world. Hazel found herself wondering if the Forbidden Forest was forbidden for more than one reason; maybe, for instance, because a long time ago wizards had felt the urge to shut that part of their world away? Out of sight, out of mind, after all...

There was something lingering on the edge of her mind, like an idea - only not quite. It was too shy and vague, like the shadow of a thought instead of the usual sparkle. There was something... not quite right about what Chiron had told them in his briefing of the wizarding world. He said Hecate had shielded her children and followers from the eyes of Muggles, but it seemed to Hazel that she had shielded much more than that. Both Jack and the Asrai had known them to be demigods _on sight... _as though they had seen some before.

"Fred, George - no, _NO_! What the-"

There was a loud _bang_, very effectively interrupting Hazel's train of thought, and everyone jumped up or around in search of what had caused it.

Predictably, the twins were at the centre of the room's concern, looking sheepish and somewhat scorched. Wisps of pink and grey smoke curled around them, rising up towards the endless vaulted ceiling and causing many present to cough and twist their faces in revulsion. There was a smell of burned caramel and bubblegum, and something else that might have been sulphur.

Harry was visibly trying not to laugh by biting the inside of his cheek, but Hermione was fuming. The smoke for some reason made her hair go even bushier, and sparks were erupting from her wand. She looked like a pissed-off child of Jupiter.

"What did you think you were doing?" she said to the twins angrily, marching up to them and planting her hands on her hips. "I _told _you: no testing of your products anywhere near underage students!"

Fred and George looked up at her, at first a little dazed, but within a second a crazy grin spread across their faces. One of them - Hazel still could not tell them apart - turned to the other and raised his eyebrows, before went back to meeting Hermione's furious glare.

"Really? I don't remember that. George?" he said.

"Nope." the twin in question answered, shaking his head. "Don't recall ever hearing or agreeing to that."

Hermione opened her mouth in outrage.

"What do you mean, never heard - I told you in our first week here, _no testing_ on students when you have no idea what the results will be."

Fred shrugged, then climbed to his feet, hauling George up with him.

"Oh, no. You see-"

"- we never agreed to that. It was you who viciously threatened us with treachery-"

"- against which we still protest, by the way-"

"- should we continue to test our products on sweet, innocent, naive little first-years-"

"- which, as you'll notice, we _have _stopped doing-"

"- but you never mentioned anything about testing them on ourselves or the years above, Hermione." George finished, grinning at her again.

Hermione glared at him, then gestured expansively at the people around. She didn't seem to notice that most of them were smiling faintly or exchanging amused glances. Somehow, Hazel realised, it was an accepted fact that the all-powerful Hermione, with all her books and intellect and sophisticated approach to problems, could never win an argument against the Weasley twins. But that was not to say she wouldn't try.

"And what about all of these people?" the witch pointed out, "You're not alone in this room. What would've happened if that product had been poisonous, or-"

"Explosive?" Fred suggested, still grinning and wiping his hands together. The grey scorch marks on his freckled face only enhanced his mad-scientist look.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. Fred rolled his.

"Oh, come on - it's not like anyone was hurt. And we've tested all of them before, we just needed to be sure for the sake of professionalism."

"And with Umbridge breathing down all our necks recently, there weren't many other places we could do the tests in peace." George put in, his reasonable tone actually sounding for a second like it might calm Hermione down.

But she was not having any of it. She straightened her back as much as possible and pointed a finger at their chests, her sharp eyes narrower than ever and her voice dangerously low.

"I don't care what you do to yourselves with your stupid tests, but you do _not _potentially endanger others with them - _especially _without their knowledge. Why is that such a hard concept for you to swallow?"

The twins looked at each other, hesitated, and shrugged. Fred placatingly put his hands on Hermione's shoulders, ignoring her furious look as he did so.

"We come from different worlds, Hermione," he said slowly and clearly, at a low volume. By now their audience had returned to practicing their Shield spells, and only Hazel, Harry and Ron were within earshot, "Muggles can afford to mess around with precaution and safety and rules as much as they like. But don't try to bring all those habits into the wizarding world, because they won't be appreciated."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. Her expression turned cold, as it probably did whenever someone poked at her muggle background.

"Because they're all ridiculous muggle nonsense, is that right?" she hissed, shoving Fred's hands off her shoulders.

Fred looked at her with something like pity in his eyes.

"No, it's because they're not what people here are used to." he said, more gently now and with less condescension. "Look around you: we're in a magical school full of ghosts and creatures that can kill you in a second. You're expected to learn spells that, with the wrong intention or poor aim, can wound, maim and kill. You brew mixtures that can make someone fall in love against their will or enter a lifelong coma." He looked at her more seriously than Hazel had seen the twins treat anything before.

"The wizarding world doesn't have health and safety measures because they don't fit here, Hermione. They never will. Now, Muggles can disillusion themselves that they can keep their people safe with a few rules as much as they feel comfortable with, but wizards prefer to let their children learn safety and the risk lesson for themselves."

He gave her a cocky grin.

"Ever wondered why George and I get into trouble so much? We don't care about the limits: we've toed them often enough, we know where they are. Maybe," he said, touching her arm, perhaps in apology for the unwelcome message he was sending with his words, "you should let go and get a feel for them yourself. Hogwarts and the magical world are no places for rules where obsessive safety is concerned."

With that, he turned away, clapped his brother on the shoulder and left Hermione standing there, stock-still. She looked slightly in shock, and did not move until Harry hesitantly touched her shoulder, looking at his friend with concern and an inquiring expression.

As for Hazel, she turned back to the group she had been with prior to the altercation. More people had joined them and a lively conversation was being held - something about the upcoming Quidditch match, where even newcomers were expected to pick a side - but she was still thinking about Fred's warning to Hermione.

It explained a lot of things about Hogwarts, and by extension the entire wizarding world. Why else would parents let their children learn potentially lethal spells alongside monster-like creatures if it weren't for the fact that they themselves had done it, and that it was universally considered a perfectly normal thing to do?

Hazel couldn't bring herself to feel much sympathy for Hermione. The girl was too uptight a lot of things, and rules were no exception. Even as a young girl - when Hazel hadn't even known she was a demigod - life had been hard and unfair. There had been no rules to stop people from treating her and her mother like they did, and no people to enforce them if there had. Hermione had grown up so far as part of the privileged circle of world society. If she expected the rest of it to behave the way she believed it should, even devoting her entire life to the task, she was going in for a hard fall.

The conversation taking place next to her was getting louder by the second, upsetting Hazel's thoughts once more.

"I just think that we are not getting our parents' money's worth with education nowadays," Marius Fell was saying huffily, his arms crossed. "With Umbridge teaching DADA - or pretending to, at least - Binns as a non-existential teacher for History, Snape as a medieval interrogator-turned-professor, Trelawney as the most obvious fraud in all of creation, and a half-giant who's somehow been selected as the best option for teaching us Care of Magical Creatures, we're not exactly getting the best deal."

"Hagrid isn't half bad," Harry interjected over his shoulder as he corrected Dennis Creevey's aim by physically moving his arm for him. "He's just... over-enthusiastic."

"Not to mention dangerously unaware of the risks involved." someone mumbled.

"Well, what do you expect? He's half-giant. What's dangerous to us probably looks like a puppy to him." Michael Corner said, flicking his fringe to the side - causing several girls to sigh - and shrugged with his usual effortless grace. His friend Terry Boot sat next to him, sporting the expression of bored superiority that Ravenclaws sometimes had when they talked to members of other houses. Not all of them, granted, but the older students of that house often made it clear that they placed the legacy of their founder in high esteem, possibly as high as their intellect.

That kind of behaviour had seriously irked Hazel at first, but over the weeks had come to the conclusion that they simply couldn't help it. Annabeth had once explained to them that the Ravenclaw common room was not just a place where students could relax, but was first and foremost a study room, then a debate arena, and finally somewhere to read in peace. It was like a library, she'd summarised, except with less books and thirty Madam Pince's instead of one. Thus, whenever they left their sanctuary of calm learning and educated discussion, Ravenclaws tended to feel out of place with all their uncalled-for knowledge brimming from their minds, which made it rather hard for them to tolerate students with less data-orientated interests.

Hazel raised an eyebrow.

"I thought the twins had successfully proved that safety wasn't an issue in this school." she said, with an edge of sarcasm.

Terry Boot shook his head.

"You should have seen Hogwarts in our second year. There was a series of accidents that led to several students being petrified-"

"What, by a gorgon?" Hazel asked, taken aback.

Terry raised an eyebrow, possibly impressed against his will. "D'you know, I don't think that possibility ever occurred to the teachers back then. But no, in any case, gorgons are thought to be extinct nowadays, and it turned out to be a basilisk. They usually kill with their gaze, but that one never seemed able to make full eye-contact."

"Guess it was shy." Michael said dryly.

"Anyway, for months the school was a virtual prison. The teachers were afraid to get the school shut down if they sent everyone away and alerted the Ministry, so they compromised by making sure that no-one was alone _ever_. That meant escorts to classrooms, to the toilet, to meals. You weren't even supposed to go to the showers without a group of friends."

"Awkward." Percy mumbled.

"So, just don't get too impressed by Fred and George's very _laissez-faire_ attitude." Terry said, smiling faintly. "_They _certainly don't need many rules, usually they do know where to stop, but there _are _some reasonable safety measures in place."

"Like making it all right that there's a forest full of deadly creatures by putting up a sign that says 'No Entry'?"

Terry grinned.

"I said they were in place. I didn't say they were good."

Michael and Percy laughed, and Hazel smiled, but had to force it a little.

"So do people sometimes go in there?"

The boys looked at each other and shrugged.

"Not us, but the twins certainly do. At least, they have." Michael said.

"Gryffindors sometimes find it funny to dare people to go in for as long as they can without something getting a bite out of them." Terry said a little disparagingly, the slight superiority returning in his tone.

"I take it they don't brag about it if they do?" Hazel asked.

"What, get bitten? You're joking, Malfoy hurt his arm by insulting a Hippogriff two years ago and wouldn't stop drawing attention to it."

"I meant going into the forest." Hazel clarified. "If teachers got wind of it, they could get in trouble."

Terry opened his mouth to answer, but Marius had started complaining about Hogwarts' waning standards again, loudly.

"We won't get enough from school this year if we don't do anything about it." he declared, crossing his arms triumphantly. "_Labor omnia vincit!_"

When nobody reacted other than staring blankly, Marius scowled, then opened his mouth to explain but was cut across.

"Sorry," someone said. "_No sprechen sie_ idiotic."

Michael Corner shifted on his seat and rolled his eyes.

"It's Latin," he said, sounding only a little less exasperated than Marius looked. "It means-"

"Hard work conquers all." Hazel completed before he could.

Everyone goggled at her, while Terry looked like he might kiss her. She smirked.

"Yeah, that's right. Hufflepuffs know Latin too."

"Not all of them." Ernie McMillan muttered.

"Not _most _of them." Susan amended, slapping Ernie's arm and tucking her knees under her chin to better stare at Hazel. "Where'd you learn it? America?"

Hazel nodded, noting with amusement but no small amount of exasperation that 'America' for most people here seemed to be the default term for any land west of the Atlantic. It was as if people in the United States vaguely referred to places like London and Versailles and Florence as 'Europe' instead of in the context of their respective countries. Didn't they realise each state was - for all non-geopolitical intents and purposes - basically a different country?

Susan looked impressed.

"I knew it was all rubbish when they said the New World had no value for old roots." She smiled, again unaware of the distinctly old-fashioned nature of her terminology - even Hazel had never consciously referred to America as 'the New World'. "My auntie works in the Ministry and she says American wizards actually have the best academic programmes because they're so international. Students there get to learn shaman rituals, and Mayan incantations, and I think even stuff like vampire lore." She watched them expectantly for confirmation.

Frank spluttered a little.

"Vampire law?" he whispered to himself, but Hazel nodded encouragingly at the girl.

"Oh yeah, all sorts of stuff. Like you said, we really like old roots. We go waaay back, too. Ancient Greece and stuff."

"And Romans," Frank put in, clearly wanting to stay on top of the conversation.

Hazel nearly rolled her eyes, but Susan made a sound of sudden comprehension.

"Ah, so _that's _how you know Latin." she guessed, triumphant.

"Yep, you got us all figured out," Thalia drawled, coming up behind them all and sitting down next to Hazel. "It's like you looked us up, or something."

Her tone was light and jokey, and it was only Hazel's recent life experiences that made her notice Thalia's tense shoulders and even more direct stare than usual. Next to her, Frank shifted as well, though Hazel didn't turn to see if he had also picked up on the huntress' verbal poke. It seemed Thalia had been listening on their conversation before joining them, and not liking the direction.

Before Susan could either answer or laugh it off, Harry called for attention.

"Okay, guys. Thank you all for coming, I could see some definite improvement today. I think by Halloween we should have mastered Disarming and Blasting spells."

"But Halloween's in two days!" someone called out.

Harry grinned, his green eyes sparkling. "Better practice, then."

There was some groaning at that, but a few smiles as well. Any excuse to use their wands these days. (And that sounded like a euphemism, but it wasn't.)

The demigods gathered to leave together, as usual. Nico was looking a little more cheery than normal, despite the tiredness that he was feeling like the rest of them from their sleepless night. When asked about it, he even smiled and joked that Halloween was his time of year: when was he going to be happy and comfortable other than when skeletons came to life?

Everybody thought there was more to it, but left it lie.

Except Hazel, who asked him more about it when they were walking back from dinner that evening. The others were either up ahead or had opted to go straight to the showers, so they were almost alone.

She asked Nico if there was any other reason he was happy.

"Well, happier than usual," she said with a warm smile. "Whatever it is, I want to bottle it up and keep it for one of your rainy days."

Nico kept silent for a bit longer than such a question necessitated. Then he shrugged.

"Not really. I just used Myrtle to IM home this morning. It was still night there, quite late, but there were still people around the campfire. It was... nice to see everyone again."

That was a surprisingly normal answer. Perhaps a bit too normal for Nico, who usually avoided people, much less acted happy about seeing them afterwards.

"Did you see Chiron?" She didn't think the centaur usually let his charges up that late.

Nico shook his head, and another thought struck Hazel.

"Was Will there?"

Ouch. Wrong question. Nico tensed up immediately and the familiar, slightly hunted look returned to his face.

"Yes. So?" his tone was so defensive that Hazel couldn't help but smile. She touched his arm lightly.

"Nothing, I just thought maybe that was why you were looking better. I miss the rest of my cohort too, and Reyna. I'd like to see them again."

Nico relaxed a little, but his jaw was still set in that defiant way of his, and Hazel knew the subject was to be dropped.

"So what new tricks should we ask Leo to cook up for Umbridge?" she asked much more lightly, skipping ahead and grinning back at her brother. "I feel Halloween calls for something much more special, don't you?"

0o0o0o0o0o0

The next day was Saturday, which in theory left students to their own devices, but in practice usually saw them being crushed under mountains of homework. Such would also have been the case for the demigods had they actually been concerned with their grades, but currently only Annabeth actively cared about what letter topped the head of her assignments, and even she admitted under pressure from her friends that it was a matter of pride more than actual desire to do well.

As Leo pointed out, all assignments given to them in class were based on theory, and when was theory ever going to be useful when they were expected to actually do magic? Seeing his girlfriend open her mouth with an answer to that had prompted Percy to hurriedly change the subject, but nevertheless, following that line of thought the demigods elected to give priority to practice-based assignments over written essays. Annabeth was of course free to work on hers as much as she liked, but even she readily accepted the fact that none of her friends could any longer put much effort into fifth-year magical theory when they barely understood even half of it.

That said, for every hour they neglected to spend on History essays or Transfiguration diagrams, they spent another working on practical spell casting. As Leo had also pointed out, the DA was teaching them far more useful stuff than all of the other classes put together. Thus, while Annabeth scribbled away at three-foot long essays, the others practiced attacking, disarming, and shielding. The range of spells available to work in this direction was surprisingly broad, since the purpose of each and every one of them could be adapted to combat situations. Even the spell Flitwick had taught them to make teapots dance, for instance, could be applied to an opponent's glasses once they had been struck away from the wearer's face, leaving them to jig out of the way and their owner all the more disorientated for it.

Similarly, _Reducto _could blast the earth right under the opponent's feet instead of their face (which was more predictable as a target); _Engorgio _could increase the size of their arm, weighing down their fighting hand with cumbersome flesh; _Diffindo _could slash at flesh (or clothes, Leo discovered to his great embarrassment) as well as anything else; and _Lumos Maxima_ could blind any onlookers if said with enough command.

They also worked on the DA's own creations, including Hermione Granger's genius galleon communication devices. Percy couldn't believe nobody in the Hephaestus had thought of something similar for demigods, for whom mobile devices were deadly, and resolved to bring the idea back with him when he returned to camp. Terry Boot had also been working with Marius Fell on developing their own little spells for the DA's advantage - ones that were similar to the originals but just tweaked enough to work differently. Stunning spells, for instance, that activated a second after they were cast so that it sailed right under the opponent's immediate defensive reaction.

The demigods were getting better at it all, slowly, but steadily. In fact according to Annabeth's _Studies in Adolescent Magical Development_ handbook, they were approaching fourth-year level in various Charms wandwork, and only a little behind in defensive magic. Nowhere near as good as many others in the DA, of course, but that was only to be expected and the demigods were in fact feeling rather good about themselves.

When Piper trudged down the stairs of the demigod girls' dormitory on that Saturday morning, yawning and pushing her mussed hair out of her face, she was incredulous but unsurprised to see Annabeth already up and scribbling away at yet another piece of paper.

"McGonagall said that wasn't due for a week," Piper said sleepily after reading the cover of the open textbook next to her friend.

"This isn't an essay, I'm writing to Chiron." Annabeth explained, her tone slightly absent as she wrote on.

She was still in her pyjamas, but her hair was brushed and she looked fairly alert for someone awake at eight on a chilly Scottish Saturday morning. Piper herself had just come down to retrieve her water bottle from the common room, intent on going right back up to bed for several more hours.

Instead, remembering that she had seen relatively little of the daughter of Athena in the past few weeks - boarding school was a lot busier when she was surrounded by her friends - Piper sank into the plushy sofa next to the fireplace and curled up near the armrest, using her wand to summon a blanket from the other sie of the room and feeling very proud of herself when it sailed over immediately.

Annabeth looked up from her parchment and threw her an impressed, amused look.

"I'm not sure I'd be the best company for you right now," she said, "Percy says I mutter and chew on my pen when I write."

"You do." Piper answered with closed eyes and a sleepy smile. "But at least I can pretend that you're muttering to me and that I'm actually up early on a Saturday, like a responsible person."

"I don't think it would be very safe to go down just yet anyway," her friend said, giving her a look, "The first Quidditch game is on this morning, and it seems like civil war might break out if Harry or Ron accidentally make eye-contact with the Slytherin team during breakfast."

"I don't think so," Piper muttered, "I know nothing about Quidditch or the Slytherin team, except for the fact that most of them are too busy figuring out how cutlery works to pick fights in the Great Hall."

Annabeth laughed softly and went back to her letter. They sat in amicable silence for a while, Annabeth occasionally asking for Piper's opinion over whether she should recount their latest troublemaking to Chiron - usually a resounding 'no' - or how to spell various wizarding names or places (which as it turned out did not translate well in the Greek alphabet). An hour later, Hazel came down, fully washed and dressed if still a little bleary-eyed from sleep. She sank next to Piper on the sofa and curled up like a cat, apparently also set up for a lazy morning of relaxing after a week of intense lawbreaking and Umbridge-wrecking.

It felt strange to converse quietly as one of them wrote a letter home and the other two stretched out on a comfy seat, debating whether they should bother with breakfast that day since none of the boys were likely to get up before eleven at least. Probably a common scene in Hogwarts, and perhaps in every boarding school, but so very rare for demigods who were always on the move, either between homes or on quests, looking over their shoulder for monsters and things that could kill them. Piper suddenly felt absurdly lucky as she lazily opened her eyes and watched her two friends do things that a few weeks ago had still felt so alien. She could get used to this.

Yeah... She shouldn't have thought that. Turned out, jinxes were just as potent in the wizarding world as they were in the mortal one.

Piper had just volunteered to go and wake Thalia so that they could have a girls' breakfast before the boys made it impossible, when there was a sudden and blinding flash of light in the room, causing them to cry out in shock and fling up an arm to cover their eyes. Piper's immediate thought was that Jason had somehow struck the floor with an accidental lightning bolt, but then registered that they hadn't been burned to a crisp, so that couldn't be it.

Instead, when the bright spots in their vision had faded somewhat and Annabeth had scrambled up from her seat on the floor, the three girls turned to see a grown man on the floor, writhing in what appeared to be unbearable agony.

"What was... - who _is _that?" Hazel panted, sitting up and still wincing from the impact of the flash.

The figure at their feet still thrashed and jerked about, making little whimpering sounds that sounded like an over-excited puppy, albeit one in pain.

Annabeth stepped a little closer, hesitation apparent in her every move. Her grey eyes scrutinised the man under an uncomprehending frown that made her look like every statue of her mother ever.

"I think... I think he's... _laughing_."

Piper stumbled off the sofa, dragging the blanket with her.

"_What_?"

It was true. The man, dressed in nondescript jeans and a dark green shirt, was alternately clutching his sides, arms flailing around him or rolling about dazedly on the floor, all the while making those strange little whimpers that the girls had initially taken for symptoms of great pain but now realised were sounds of _giggling_.

The man was currently face-down on the carpet, obscuring his face so that only his curly auburn hair was showing, but when Piper glanced at Annabeth in complete astonishment she saw her friend glaring at the man, the frown still in place, this time with a spark of recognition in her expression.

"Is... Is he drunk?" Hazel whispered, transfixed at the man, who was now thumping the leg of the sofa repeatedly, his gales of laughter getting louder by the second.

Annabeth didn't reply, but strode over to the man and forcibly pushed him onto his back so that his nose pointed to the ceiling. Now that it was no longer muffled by the carpet, his laughter came out loud and clear, his brown eyes crinkled and teary as the gales racked his body. Annabeth looked grim.

Piper also didn't feel like laughing.

"He has to be a god," she whispered, "No-one else could have come into Hogwarts like that."

"He's Hermes." Annabeth declared, getting up and dusting her hands on her blue pyjama bottoms. She looked down at the newly-identified, giggling god with something akin to dislike. Piper wondered what the god had done to offend her. She knew demigods in general weren't keen on gods - complicated family history, and all that - but she knew nothing of any long-standing animosity between Athena and Hermes.

"Hermes? As in Mercury? What is he doing here?" Hazel asked, her voice much higher than usual.

"Yeah, I thought he was the god of messengers or something." Piper said, tilting her head as she considered the god's extremely strange behaviour. "Not alcohol. Isn't that Mr. D.'s job?"

"Search me." Annabeth muttered, stepping away. "But I think I know why he's like this. Remember how we got here, through the aether? That stuff is breathable air to gods, but I guess not in pure form." she glanced down at Hermes again, who was now tracing the floral design of the carpet with his index and singing a nursery rhyme as he went. This time the distaste in her expression was clear. "He's not drunk. He's high."

Together, they managed to drag and haul the flailing god onto the sofa, finding it difficult due to his uncontrollable laughter, but finally they dumped him among the cushions and padded seats, panting and massaging their sore arms. Messenger gods were heavier than they looked. Probably all the junk mail they carried.

After another minute or so of repeatedly nearly falling off the sofa due to his condition, Hermes' giggles started to fade, until at last he made eye contact with the girls - Annabeth especially - and his crazy grin disappeared for good.

Immediately, he brought a hand to his eyes.

"Ooh, my head..." he moaned. "What in the name of Olympus just happened?"

"You tried to get into Hogwarts. Without Hecate's help, I imagine." Annabeth answered crisply.

"Hecate? That _witch_, she never told me..." Hermes let his words fade as he looked at the girls again, sizing up the three female teenagers like there was nothing he would rather do less. Annabeth's stormy gaze seemed to intimidate him a little, but stirred him enough to sit up a little.

He sighed.

"Well, I know it's been a long time, Annabeth Chase, but you look well."

Annabeth nodded, but continued to stare at him with thinly-veiled hostility.

Hermes' mouth twitched, and he turned to the others instead.

"And you must be the legendary Hazel Levesque, and the lovely Piper McLean." he said, some of his pantheon's charismatically divine charm leaking into his voice. "I saw you briefly in Greece during the war, but we were never introduced."

Hazel and Piper nodded awkwardly, but cast Annabeth nervous, expectant glances, waiting for her to deal with this unfamiliar deity.

Annabeth complied.

"What are you doing here?"

Hermes raised an eyebrow.

"Why, to deliver a message of course."

"What's wrong with Iris messages? We could have been anywhere when you found us. You could've blown our cover." Annabeth said sharply.

Hermes looked annoyed.

"I think you're forgetting that I am, in fact, a god." he said, his tone a little snippy. "Do you truly think determining the circumstances of my appearance beyond me?"

"Oh no, I'm sure you manage your entries perfectly," Annabeth retorted, "Which I suppose is why you spent your first five minutes here giggling on the carpet."

Hermes flashed her a look, but conceded her point with a moody shrug.

"Hecate reminded us that the aether can also be used as a form of travel. Although I must say that I haven't used it in... well, ever." he admitted. "And whether or not Hecate left out the details deliberately..." he shrugged again, looking annoyed, "is irrelevant at present."

"So what's the message that couldn't be put into an IM?" Annabeth pressed on.

Hermes seemed to hesitate.

"It's a rather, ah... delicate matter. And of the utmost importance, which is why the gods sent me. Anyone else could too easily spread the information."

"How trusting of them." Annabeth said.

"Do tell." Piper said, casting her friend a look and leaning forward on her forearms on the back of the sofa. "Has my lady mother gotten caught up in a net again?"

"Not your mother, no." Hermes muttered. He stood up, kindly but firmly brushing aside Hazel's concerned protests. "It really is a very important message, so I would appreciate it I only had to relay it once. I had understood there were more of you-"

"I'll go wake the others," Hazel volunteered, turning towards the boys' dormitory.

"No need," said a voice from the other side of the room. It was Thalia, leaning against the wall with her steely gaze fixed on Hermes, the same hostility as Annabeth's apparent on her features (Piper really had to find out what the deal was around this guy). Glancing at her friends, she held up a DA galleon by way of explanation.

Hermes looked confused, but Piper and the others understood. With Marius' help, they had charmed the coins to vibrate instead of heat up when a message arrived. The demigods had also taken to keeping the coins on at all times, which for most of the boys involved piercing the coin and keeping it on the beaded cord around their neck. It made it awkward to check the message once it arrived (even though the leather cord had been replaced with some of Leo's sturdy elastic), but at least there was constant skin contact to make sure any message did not go unnoticed, as could sometimes happen when you were wearing four layers of clothes like most people did in an increasingly wintry Scotland.

Indeed, a few moments later, the boys' dormitory door crashed open and out tumbled five sleep-rumpled teenagers in various stages of dress, but all fully alert and aware of their surroundings if the weapons they were holding were anything to go by.

Hermes appeared to note the presence of wands alongside the demigods' usual swords, and he stuck out his bottom lip, impressed.

"Percy Jackson," he greeted them, "and the other famous demigods who saved the day several times in the past five years. I can honestly say it is both an honour and a pleasure."

Percy and the other boys looked surprised, perhaps at the Hermes' words more than at his presence. It was not often that a god so voluntarily expressed genuine respect for demigods.

"Lord Hermes," Percy answered, lowering Riptide and confusion clouding his green eyes. "Um... What are you doing here? And - uh, _how _did you get here?"

Before the god could explain, Annabeth cut across him and gave them a brief summary of the past ten minutes, making sure to emphasise the god's peculiar reaction to the aether, for which the god in question narrowed his eyes at her. Clearly, Annabeth was not going to cut him any slack for whatever beef she had with him, and he was not going to endure it for long.

"An embarrassing message?" Leo repeated, grinning and shoving his wand back into his pocket. "Let's hear it."

Hermes once more looked uncomfortable at the mention of his mission.

"I must stress that you keep this _absolutely _to yourselves. We gods really cannot do with any more crises at the moment, not so soon after Gaea-"

"Oh no, I think we'll tell the first wizard we come across," Annabeth drawled, sitting in the armchair behind her like a queen. "I mean it's not like we're trying to hide the fact that we're demigods, is it?"

"Annabeth..." Percy murmured, glancing at her.

"No, she's right," Hermes said, though he was frowning, "I realise the danger of your situation. I'll just have to trust that you will do what is best. My friends, it is with great urgency that I have come for your assistance-"

"Makes a change," Annabeth mumbled.

"- for we have found ourselves in a rather delicate situation two days ago, when it came to our notice that," Hermes cleared his throat, winced, and ploughed on, "the god Apollo has disappeared." He paused. "Or been captured. Possibly both."

There was a brief anticlimactic silence, blinks, and a few glances exchanged between the demigods, followed by a couple of groans.

"What, again?" Percy complained. "Last time he was in Delos. Have you checked there?"

"Yes." Hermes replied testily. "But you're not-"

"I thought Zeus was planing to temporarily exile him anyway?" Jason asked.

Piper glanced at him, wondering how he knew that.

Hermes looked uncomfortable again, and increasingly annoyed.

"Well _yes_, but-"

"How come it's always us who have to find your relatives?" Nico grumbled. "You're gods. Aren't you supposed to have inherent tracking devices?"

Hermes closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his lips moving silently as he counted. When he reached ten, he opened his eyes again, looking less annoyed, but there was a steely quality to his gaze that hadn't been there before.

"We cannot interfere," he said, enunciating every syllable clearly, "because Apollo _has _gone off the radar, but we know for a fact that he is in this area. _Wizarding _area." he clarified. "We cannot reach out to him through our normal means of communication because, as the son of Zeus has rightly surmised," he sighed, motioning towards Jason, "Zeus has deemed it right to exclude Apollo from Olympus and strip him of his powers for the time being, rendering him all but mortal. Only-"

He paused, pulled a slight face that betrayed his discomfort again, and resumed.

"Only Zeus had not planned to send him to Earth quite just yet, but when Apollo was called upon two days ago, he was found to be missing. The Lady Artemis was the last to speak to him, and she says he was intent on travelling here. To find you, presumably, although I have no idea why."

Percy sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

"What makes you think he ever even reached this place?" he asked tiredly.

"We can no longer communicate with Apollo through godly means, but we are supposed to be able to locate him and send him messages by other means. However, whenever we tried, we received only blank static, which suggests he is no longer in our sphere of influence." Hermes explained. "Or rather, he has penetrated someone else's."

"Can't Hecate help you out with this one?" Annabeth asked, half a step ahead of him. "If this is her 'sphere of influence'-"

Hermes' lips thinned into a smile that was anything but happy.

"I assume she lectured you on her inability to interfere in this world, much like we gods often cannot in our own. That applies double when some of us cross into her realm."

"She sent you." Piper pointed out.

Hermes looked uneasy.

"Well, the gods sent me, I wouldn't go so far as to say that Hecate sent me..."

Thalia groaned.

"Oh, tell me you're not going to drag us into one of your ridiculous feuds again. They never end well for _anyone_, least of all for us." She shuddered. "I am living proof of that."

She nervously ran her hands up and down her arms, as though making sure they weren't turning to bark.

Judging by the stony faces of the rest of the demigods, they heartily agreed.

"Well, yes, I suppose I can understand why you may not feel inclined to be involved in this matter, but..." Hermes looked nervous again, and his right eye twitched a little. "We cannot afford to ask help from anyone else. You are the heroes of the moment, our most experienced fighters-."

"More like it's embarrassing for you to admit that one of you has gotten lost again." Percy said, crossing his arms. "First Artemis, then Hera, and now Apollo. Does it run in the family, or what?"

Hermes looked him straight in the eye. He seemed to deliberate for a moment, his gaze calculating and narrowed, deciding what to say next. But when he spoke the urgency was almost gone from his features, replaced instead by sincerity, and his tone was both resigned and grave.

"We ask for your help. Not because we wish for it, but because we need it. We gods rely on humans, that I will no longer deny. The fact that you are the children of some among them makes the gods all the more reluctant to ask, but hear me: we _beg _of you to help."

Hermes made eye-contact with the unmoving demigods.

"Please," he added, "We trust you in our moment of need."

There was a brief silence among the demigods again, but this time it was from a mixture of disbelief and stunned surprise. Hermes seemed intent on breaking all records in the category of relations between gods and their children. He had crossed an important line, and they all could feel it. No god had ever so shed their pride and divine superiority to relate to them on an individual level, not even their godly parents.

Hazel cleared her throat.

"Lord Hermes, could you, um, let us talk for a minute - please?" she sounded so polite that Hermes nodded without protest and retreated to the furthest corner of the room, then sat down in the armchair.

The demigods retreated up the stairs to the boys' dormitory, since the stone walls of the common room and staircase made the room very resonant and this was not a conversation they wished for Hermes to hear.

"I think we should help." Piper said as soon as the door closed behind them.

"I don't." Nico muttered. "Gods never know when to stop, whether it's asking for help or giving it. Read the myths."

"But what about Apollo?" Hazel asked, worried. "If he's mortal now, doesn't isolation put him in danger?"

"Maybe he'll learn a thing or two about fighting for your life and think twice the next time he asks people to sacrifice themselves for his whims." Thalia said, her face hard.

"With any luck, he might even teach the other gods to do the same." Annabeth agreed, sitting next to Percy on his bed.

"I'm finding you uncommonly harsh, girls." Frank said - well, frankly. He was leaning against the post of his own bed, frowning a little at Thalia and Annabeth.

"Trust us-" Thalia said, pulling a face.

"-we've had more experience with gods like these than you have." Annabeth said.

She was correct, no doubt, but Piper found it a bit tactless to point it out like that. Their experiences did not mean they would repeat themselves.

"Actually," Piper interjected, "I think Hermes coming here is a good thing."

"Why?"

"Because we'd been wondering what to do next, and now we have our answer." she reasoned. "By looking for Apollo we might even explore more of this world."

"How? We can't leave the school." Nico objected.

Annabeth looked thoughtful. "Hermes said Apollo was almost definitely in Hecate's zone of influence. He said Apollo had been on his way to find us. Does that mean he could be on Hogwarts ground already?"

Percy snorted.

"Even as a mortal, I have a feeling we'd know it if Apollo was in the school."

"Okay, but what about Hogsmeade?"

"Then Hermes would have appeared there directly and found Apollo for himself." Jason reasoned. "It's so small, it wouldn't have taken more than an hour."

"So, that leaves what - the forest?" Piper suggested, half-joking.

The demigods exchanged glances. Hazel was biting her lip, and even Thalia looked a little concerned. Piper's face fell.

"Oh, come on-"

"Not to hustle you, but do you think you could finish your chat once I'm gone?" came Hermes' voice from the common room bellow, quite faint now that it had several stone walls and a staircase between him and the group of demigods. "The fire's getting cold."

Leo snorted.

"Bless the little moppet, his feet are getting chilly." he muttered.

Nevertheless, they returned to the common room as the messenger god requested, finding him still in the armchair, staring at the fire.

"You know," he said, conversationally, "I rather think you don't like us anymore."

Annabeth's raised eyebrow at that practically drawled _As opposed to...?_, but Piper didn't get it. When asked what he meant, Hermes shrugged lightly.

"No more offerings." he explained, gesturing at the fire. "Not one, since you got here - except for a couple of Iris Messages."

Annabeth crossed her arms.

"Did you really think we were going to burn food at every meal in front of everybody else just to make you feel good about yourselves?"

A flicker of annoyance passed on Hermes' face. Piper couldn't really blame him. Where had the cautious, diplomatic nature of the daughter of Athena gone?

"Hardly. But one private mark of respect towards your parents hardly seems to stretch the bill." He shot back coolly.

"We _had _thought about it," Percy ventured, gently putting his hand on Annabeth's shoulder. He too had noticed her uncharacteristic hostility. "But we decided it wasn't worth risking our cover. Fire here is strictly monitored ever since a third-year set the whole second-floor corridor ablaze in our first week."

"And our parents should know that we respect them no matter what," Piper said sweetly - a little honey never hurt, "Please tell them that if they don't."

Hermes inclined his head to her, conceding their words, though his gaze was still cool when he looked at Annabeth. He turned to the fireplace again, but with his hands extended close to it, as though trying to glean a maximum of heat short of plunging his hands into the embers. He was also shivering a little, which struck Piper as distinctly odd: gods did not shiver. They weren't supposed to be affected by temperature at all.

As though he had read her mind, Hermes cursed under his breath, rubbing his upper arms.

"This place is affecting me," he said quietly. "I shouldn't be here. Not my place."

He looked down at his arms, then yelped.

"Oh crumbs, blast it all! Here I've gone and caught a disease! Stay back, all of you. I appear to have contracted a form of small pustules-"

"You've got goosebumps," Hazel said, sitting down on the sofa. "People get them when they're cold."

"What a beastly thing to have," Hermes mumbled, looking closely at his arm and the little bumps of divine flesh he had mistaken for pustules. "How do you mortals withstand such humiliating disfigurement?"

"_Crumbs_? 'Beastly'?" Leo muttered to Percy, who shrugged.

"He did say this place was affecting him," he answered back in an undertone.

"Lord Hermes, if we accept to go looking for Apollo-" Piper started in her most polite tones.

"Do you have any idea where he might be?" Annabeth cut across, interrupting Piper. Again, that sort of thing really wasn't like her, but the morning so far had been strange enough that Piper reminded herself not to feel vexed. "Our movements are restricted here, we can't leave the school without attracting suspicion, and certainly not without external help."

"We can only assist you if Apollo is on or nearby Hogwarts grounds." Piper clarified. "Any further away than that and we have to decline and put our primary mission first."

Hermes looked relieved. He stood up, brushing the last of carpet dust from his clothes.

"Of course, I should have been clearer earlier. By Hecate's area, I meant the epicentre of her power: here. The place where European magical civilisation started. If Apollo is anywhere in the United Kingdom, he is here."

0o00o0o0o0o0o

"Right," Percy said, "Because our lives aren't dangerous enough, so now we have trek across a forbidden forest to look for a lost god."

They were standing on the edge of the forest, a little way away from Hagrid's hut - Percy still could not believe they let a half-giant run the grounds - peering around the first trees, trying to see what could possibly have given the forest its name. The sky was pale blue and clear, with a chilly breeze that almost annulled the effects of the bright sun. They were wearing their own clothes instead of uniforms, for once, which meant that they were more comfortable to move in, but not necessarily warmer. Only Thalia, with her thermal huntress attire, seemed unbothered by the cold.

Hermes nodded absently, looking nervous. He kept glancing around furtively, as though he expected Hecate to jump out from behind a tree and yell _BOO!_ at any moment. The whole this-is-my-territory business was really starting to irk Percy, who remembered only too well the Nuckelavee's crazed attack on them for trespassing and his deathly stench. If Hecate was going to punish Hermes for coming to find them in her world, she had much less sense than Percy credited her with.

"I really should go," Hermes muttered. "This is not my place."

"Are you okay?" Hazel asked, a concerned frown on her face. She looked younger than she was, possibly because she'd tied her hair back in two braids to keep it out of the way, giving her the air of a elementary schoolgirl.

Hermes indeed looked far from comfortable, but he smiled weakly at Hazel.

"It will pass once I leave this place," he assured her. "In the meantime, I just have to ignore the waves of hostility and not-belonging that roll off every rock and tree of this place like steam from a cauldron. Hecate knows how to make a point." he finished, more dryly.

"Are you sure the forest is the place we have to search?" Annabeth asked, getting back to the subject at hand. She had mellowed a little since the whole exchange in the common room, but her gaze was still cool when she looked at the god. No doubt she still couldn't really forgive him for what Luke had suffered as a result of Hermes' decision to accept the prophecy.

"It's the most logical option," Hermes confirmed. "And I gather you Athena kids are big on logic."

Annabeth turned away from him, her nose a little higher in the air, while Hermes smirked.

Frank was anxiously twisting his favourite dagger in his hands, expertly switching his grip on the handle and passing from hand to hand. It was a nervous habit of his, one he'd abandoned at Hogwarts since they'd arrived, but it had returned now that his hands once more held a weapon.

"I hope nobody notices that we're gone," he muttered, squinting back at the castle against the sun.

Thalia snorted.

"They'll be too busy celebrating their Quidditch victory."

"What makes you so sure you'll win?" Piper asked slyly.

"The Gryffindors act like losing's not a possibility." Thalia said with a shrug. "And even if they do-"

"What are Griffin Doors?" Hermes asked, frowning in confusion. "Another school?"

Thalia explained how Hogwarts students were divided into four houses for the length of their studies. Hermes looked perplexed.

"They divide the students into houses according to their personalities?" he asked.

They nodded.

"Well there's a recipe for rivalries if ever there was one." he muttered. He pointed a stern finger at them. "Whatever happens, do _not _let this give Zeus any ideas."

His face was perfectly grave, but Hazel and Piper laughed.

"Can we please get a move on?" Nico asked irritably. "It's cold."

He was wearing his aviator jacket, but otherwise his clothes were the same black t-shirt and jeans, which worked fine in summery New York, but not in autumnal Scotland.

Hermes clasped his hands, suddenly very businesslike, when he spoke his tone was brisk and cheerful - no doubt he knew he was going to depart very soon.

"Right, this is where I leave you. Stay on track and play nice with the monsters in there. Meanwhile-"

"What?" Nico yelped. "Wait! What do we do when we find Apollo?"

"And what if we don't?" Hazel asked.

"We probably won't." Thalia said grimly.

"But what if we do?"

"Knowing him, we'll spend most of our time getting him to shut up."

But Hermes wasn't really listening. He was dusting off his sneakers - which Percy only just noticed had mini wings on them - maybe the dirt made them less aerodynamic - and his body language was of someone preparing to leave quickly.

"Oh, just make sure he doesn't get into any trouble," he said, far too vaguely to suggest he had given the matter any thought. Giving his shoes a final cursory look, Hermes raised his hand, holding his fingers like he was about to snap them.

"But how are we supposed to get him back to you?" Jason blurted. "Won't-"

But Hermes clicked his fingers together and just like that, he was gone.

Jason swore.

"I hope he overdoses on aether." Annabeth said darkly.

0o0o0o0o0

Forty minutes later in the increasingly shadowed and oppressive mass of trees, there was still no sign of Apollo, mortal or otherwise. On the other hand, the demigods had found Weasley Wizard's Wheezes sweet wrappers, a few dead birds (worryingly torn to shreds), the inexplicable presence of a car's headrest, the slightly more understandable but infinitely more awkward instance of a bra, and various prints in the mud, some of which none of them recognised.

Nobody had mentioned the idiocy of blindly searching for Apollo a large forest, for two reasons: one, it was too obvious. Two, what other immediate choice did they have?

However, after nearly an hour had passed, Annabeth was the first to come to a dead stop, her face blank, before suddenly turning around and sitting down on a protruding edge from a cluster of rocks near the path. She sat cross-legged, dropping her small backpack on the ground beside her, then clasped her hand under her chin, resting her elbows on her knees. Her gaze was fixed on her friends, but it was not her uncharacteristic behaviour that unsettled Percy, it was the emptiness of her expression.

She had looked at him blankly before, out of shock, or anger, or even boredom, but never with this terrible blank look of such uncaring emptiness that a marble statue looked vibrant in comparison. Percy hadn't even known human features were capable of forming such a mask of utter passivity.

"What are you doing?"

Annabeth shrugged, not answering, staring into space.

Thalia had walked ahead, unaware of her friend's halt, but now she walked back, her expression of annoyance replaced by increasing concern and confusion as she took in the scene.

"Annie, what's wrong?" she asked.

Again, Annabeth only gave a slight shrug in response.

Thalia stuck out her hip to the side, readjusting her grip on her bow - constantly in her hand since they'd entered the forest - and took a long breath.

"Not that I don't applaud this sudden rebellious version of you, sis, but we're pretty much on a deadline. Do you think you could save it for when there are any adults around to actually care?"

Annabeth finally raised her eyes to meet Thalia's.

"Since when do adults care what happens to us? Adults are the ones who got us here in the first place - the oldest adults in the universe."

Thalia sighed.

"Is this the we-shouldn't-be-lapdogs-to-the-gods thing again? 'Cause if it is-"

"What if it is?" Annabeth fired back, sounding angry now. "Don't act like you don't agree, Thal. You've suffered from it as much as I have. We all have-"

"This really isn't the time or the place," Thalia said shortly. "We have a mission. We do not let personal issues interfere with out quests."

"Artemis made you quite the little soldier, didn't she?" Annabeth observed, a snappish tone to her voice. "Have you lost what little free will you had?"

Thalia's knuckles went white as she clutched her bow harder than ever. Biting his lip, Percy watched the two conflicting girls, completely at a loss what to do. Usually it was him who clashed with Thalia. Children of the Big Three tended to do that - it was an accepted fact of demigod life since Percy had met the Grace and di Angelo siblings. In fact it was moments when they agreed on something that made others worry.

Which was why the air was thick with tension as Annabeth and Thalia glared at each other, for never before had the two fought in front of their friends. They'd had the occasional spat, like the rest of them, but never had so many lines been crossed before, least of all by Annabeth.

Thalia took a deep breath.

"Annie, let's not do this," she said, her voice surprisingly calm. "Not now. We can't afford-"

"I don't care what we can or can't afford!" Annabeth almost shouted, stunning everyone around her. This was the Forbidden Forest, the very _last _place one should hold a shouting match. "I. Don't. Care. I'm sick of caring! I've spent my _life _caring what to do and what to say, what _not _to do and what _not _to say. And you know why?"

She snorted. "Of course you do, you're just afraid of saying it. It all boils down to the gods. It's what _they _think that matter, what _they _want, what _they _feel. And because to them we're just extensions of themselves, they expect us to do the same." she spread her arms around her. "Look at us. Lost in a haunted forest at the request of a hapless god who's lost one of his friends and can't be bothered to look for him himself. In a freaking _forest_, because the best lord Hermes can do is _suppose _that it's the most logical option, in the whole of magical Britain.

"And don't give me that epicentre crap," she snapped at Jason as he opened his mouth to object. "You really think he'd come to us if he had even a idea where Apollo really was? He couldn't even tell us what to do with him. It's like we're servants, trusted enough to carry out tasks, but not enough to be considered in the whole plan. Well I'll tell you now, I'm sick of it. I won't do it anymore. I quit."

If she'd had any weapons on her, she would have thrown them to the floor in disgust. As it was, she stayed sitting on her rock, glaring around at her shocked friends, daring them to contradict her.

None did, but Percy took a tentative step towards her.

"Annabeth-"

She looked at him, her gaze hitting him like a truck on a motorway. For reasons unknown to him, Annabeth's eyes always hinted at her emotions far more than anyone else's ever did for Percy. Maybe it was because he knew her so well. Maybe she made less of a conscious effort to hide her true feelings from him. But never before that instant had she looked at him with such raw intensity. He gulped.

"Don't say it," she whispered. "Don't say that you understand, that you wish you could leave it all behind. I know it all: gods are the reason we're here, and sometimes the reason we're still alive. It's our _duty _to help them. Gods are family, after all."

She shook her head, her mouth curling on one side into a bitter, humourless smile. "I'm sorry, but if they are, they should damn well _act _like it - not like game masters or executioners."

Percy felt his heart squeeze in response to her pain, the raw anger that roughened her voice, the weeks' worth of worry and fear that had left lines on her familiar and beautiful face. He wished he could hold her and tell her that it would be all right, that it would be over soon, that she only had to say the word and he would stop it all.

But he couldn't.

Because he knew her pain, he felt it every day. Usually, he was the one to act on it, too. He understood every ounce of bitterness and anger behind her words, every snap, every single fist clenched in frustration. Sometimes he thought he would get used to the feeling in time, but with every new divine request, it returned. The feeling of being disposable, a figurine in a game of violent, leisurely and pointless chess. The feeling of worthlessness as their superiors lay on them task after task, with a pat on the head and a smile, but always with a hidden snake in their actions.

They were demigods. This was their life. And for them, it was a literal case of 'accept it, or die.'

Percy could feel all of it weigh on his heart and his tongue as he stared hopelessly at his girlfriend, but no words would come out. No words _could _come out. None should.

Like she'd said. They knew it all.

Unexpectedly, in the middle of the tense silence, it was Frank who spoke first.

"Do you want one of us to walk back to the castle with you?" he asked softly, his face betraying nothing but concern.

Annabeth blinked, her anger suddenly gone as she glanced at the big burly Canadian-Chinese son of Mars.

She opened her mouth to answer - with what, Percy would wonder sometime afterwards - but before she could Thalia's head snapped up.

"Shh. D'you hear that?" she asked.

Used to following abrupt orders, the demigods immediately pricked their ears and listened to the sounds of the woods around them.

So far, it had sounded pretty normal for a forest. Well, there had been the odd howl and/or scream of terror, but mostly they had been far away and relatively un-worrisome as far as Thalia's bow and arrow were concerned. Quidditch noises had been muffled almost instantly by the trees, and birds' singing stopped around ten minutes into their trek, but the usual sounds of brushing leaves, small animals creeping around on bark and little crawly things scuttling around on the ground had been fairly consistent.

Now however, those sounds were laced with the newer, far less expected sound of a woman's voice, singing.

Except the word 'singing' seemed terribly mundane and not at all adequate for the sound they were hearing now. The notes undulated along the melody, flowing like the waves in open sea, at times reaching the essence of birdsong, and at others resembling the bray of woodland fowl, but never losing its impossibly beautiful, ethereal quality. It was faint, perhaps a little distant, but definitely there. Percy vaguely wondered how they'd failed to hear it before. The song didn't sound like it had just started.

Somewhere at the back of his mind, memories stirred. Suddenly, it wasn't trees he was looking at, it wasn't leaf-strewn earth beneath his feet. He was on white sand, the gentle breeze ruffling his hair, palm and cypress trees gently waving against turquoise water and a limpid sky. And the singing...

_Calypso_.

It was almost a whisper, and perhaps Percy said it out loud. Leo certainly did.

As one, the two boys started running towards the sound of the singing, leaving their similarly-entranced companions frozen to the forest floor, startling only when Percy and Leo left their group and disappeared among the trees.

They left the track, and they didn't even care - much. Percy was aware of something niggling at him, something like 'you bloody moron, why did you leave the path', but ignored it and raced ahead, with Leo keeping pace with him at his side. He could just about hear the others stumbling after them, calling their names, but they ignored them, completely focused on finding the source of the singing.

After about a minute - or was it an hour? - they burst into a clearing, skidding to a halt. Panting, the boys took in the scene.

The clearing was wide and devoid of trees altogether, fenced in on one side by a little cliff of pale stone, with nary a leaf marring the velvety smoothness of the mossy ground. Only a stream cut across this tellytubby-worthy floor, trickling as it flowed away from a small waterfall that bubbled out of a crack in the cliff. The clearing was mostly plunged in shadow, and ferns grew in little clumps around the spring, unseasonal purple flowers tastefully dotting the growths of moss on the side of the cliff.

The singing came from the pale figure kneeling at the little pond formed by the waterfall. The figure was female, but her face turned down towards at her hands, which appeared to be washing something in the pond. As she raised her hands slightly above the water - revealing long, thin fingers that were white as bone - Percy saw that what she was washing was a load of pale cloth, liberally dotted with... No, it couldn't be...

The figure raised her head, and her face was a pale oval in the gloom of the nearby trees' shadows.

"Calypso?" Leo breathed.

But Percy sucked in his breath.

"Mom?" he whispered.

Just then, the others burst out of the forest behind them, noisily coming to a sudden to a stop as they took in the scene confronting them. Annabeth appeared to have completely forgotten her outburst, and even Thalia only registered astonishment as she spotted the pale figure near the waterfall.

Surprisingly, she blanched.

"Lady Artemis?"

But Nico pushed her aside, his face suddenly so stunned and shocked that nobody challenged him.

"Bianca?" he breathed.

The woman's mouth twitched into a smile. Sally Jackson got to her feet with a grace that seemed illegal, and dropped her wet washing at her feet, lightly stepping over it - though not before a dazed but still aware Percy noted with grim confirmation the nature of the stains on it.

Sally Jackson took another step towards them. The trees' shadows still covered her completely, giving her unnatural pallor a glow that shone through the gloom.

Nico took a step to meet her. Without needing to think about it, Percy held out an arm to hold him back.

Something was wrong...

Nico obeyed Percy's touch, but kept staring at the woman's face.

"Bianca," he breathed again. "Is that really- what are you doing here?"

Sally Jackson's habitually warm eyes, now devoid of emotion save for distant amusement, turned to Nico's stunned face.

"Demigods," she greeted, in a voice that was less noise than music, more air than sound, as light as feather's touch but resonant as a steel drum. "I see the rumours are true."

Behind her, the pale cloth lay heaped in a soaking pile at the edge of the pond. It was stained with blood.

* * *

**A/N:**

**I owe you guys an apology. Over two months since the last update! I've just finished my exams - including a 48h one that almost managed to entirely consume my soul - and also recently came back from Ireland (beautiful place, lovely people, spiffing food).**

**This is the result of hard-regained writing habits. Sorry if it didn't attain usual standards, it's just been hard to stay focused and inspired recently. Don't know why.**

**Anyway, thanks very much for all your reviews. All those Guests who comment, it physically pains me not to get back to you! As such, here are a few public responses:**

**\- Nobody: that is a golden idea. Thank you very much. I shall reflect on it at great length.**

**\- Demipuff: Yeah, I sympathise. I address that in the A/N of last chapter, if you want my view on that.**

**\- H: you get your wish in this chapter ;-)**

**\- You-Know-Who: you were the one to really motivate me to write the rest of this chapter, so it is dedicated to you :-)**

**To **_**all **_**of you who commented, thank you all. Every word was repeatedly read, weighed and cherished. **

**Toodles!**

**PS: This chapter's title, **_**Fiat Voluntas Deorum**_**, means "May the gods' will be done". (I _think_, although I had to adapt it and my Latin grammar is non-existent)**


	16. Acta Non Verba

**Chapter 16 - Acta Non Verba**

**Author's Note:**

**Hi guys. **

**He-he, sorry. I know. Ages, as usual. **

**Still, this one's fairly long isn't it? **

**Yes. I rather think so too.**

* * *

Almost as though he were in a dream, Percy drew Riptide from his pocket and uncapped it, revealing the sword's glowing bronze blade. He didn't know what was going on, but this woman was pretending to be his mom, Nico's dead sister and two goddesses all at once. Even in his world that was not normal.

He pointed it towards the woman. His mother's face looked back at him, her lips twitching higher as she took in his movements.

"You would harm your own mother, demigod?" she asked, still in the same beautiful but not-quite-human voice. "And here I thought you would be happy to see me."

"You and I both know you're not my mom, lady. You're not Bianca or Calypso either, so quit pretending." Percy's voice shook a little, though he didn't know why. It wasn't like he hadn't missed his mother before. Poor Sally Jackson spent half her life wondering where he'd gone off to and if he was alive or not.

Nico and Leo were still gazing at the woman, spellbound, so Percy nudged them with his foot. When they didn't respond, he kicked them. At last, they stirred a little, scowling at Percy and absently rubbing their shins.

"Sure looks like Calypso," Leo muttered.

"She's supposed to," Piper said from behind them as the woman carried on smiling like she didn't have a care in the world. She sounded wary, and when Percy glanced back at her he saw that she looked a little scared as well. "She's a Bean Nighe."

"A been-niggy?" Leo asked, his confusion effectively rupturing the woman's hold on him.

Piper looked annoyed.

"I don't know how to pronounce it, Leo." she snapped. "It's Scottish Gaelic. They're mythological creatures."

"Like sirens?" Percy asked, thinking of the singing. It still reverberated in his head. He shook it a little, then realised that it wasn't his head that was the problem: the singing actually _was _reverberating. The little clearing still pulsed with the song's melody, buzzing with life and sound as though the song had woken it from hibernation.

Concentrating, he kept his eyes on the Bean Nighe, who was still gazing at them without showing much inclination to speak. It was hard work. The gentle nagging of the song's remains kept pulling at his mind, like tendrils of a vine that clung to his thoughts, softly pulling at him to come and play. He shook his head again, knowing he probably looked like a confused puppy but not caring: he could feel this woman's power like her could feel his heartbeat thrumming in his veins.

Piper's little beaded braids clinked as she shook her head.

"No, more like the Fates. They're supposed to take the shape of the woman you want to see most, but-"

"So kinda like the opposite of a boggart," Percy said, remembering an episode where Filch had spent half an afternoon dealing with one in an abandoned broom cupboard, grumbling because none of the professors were available to help him with it. "Hey lady, are you-"

"Don't!" came Piper's sharp voice. In front of Percy, the woman's eyes turned almost hungry, with a glint in them that hadn't been there before. "If you ask her a question, you'll have to answer one in return. She'll answer three questions, but only if you're able to answer three in return. No more, no less."

Percy gulped. He'd read enough legends to know that creatures like these were the trickiest to deal with. Usually they managed to trick the greatest of heroes regardless of their courage and strength. Only the wittiest got past them.

Percy had a feeling Annabeth was probably the one to deal with this. Without letting his gaze stray from the Bean Nighe, he told her so.

His girlfriend cautiously stepped over to join him, touching Nico's shoulder on the way, making him jump. The poor guy had been staring at the woman with such longing Percy could only imagine what it felt like. No doubt seeing your dead sister's face on a creepy siren-shapeshifting-boggart woman messed with your mind.

Annabeth's expression as she came into Percy's line of view made him wonder who she was seeing. Maybe Athena, who hadn't given her daughter much attention lately.

"How do we do this?" Annabeth asked, addressing Piper, who was still hovering at the back.

"I'm... I don't know," Piper said. Percy could imagine her biting her lip in regret as she did so.

"Well where did you learn about them in the first place? Didn't they have any advice on how to deal with these creatures?"

"I learned about them when we were doing all that reading about Jack and the Nuckelavee," Piper said. "But the book only described the creatures, not how to deal with them."

Not once during their exchange so far had the demigods taken their eyes off the Bean Nighe. Frank and Thalia even had their bows drawn and an arrow notched in her direction. She didn't seem to mind that they were talking about her as they scrutinised her face, like spectators of a zoo keeping an eye on the scorpions behind the glass. In fact, she seemed to enjoy the attention, her eyes flicking to each new person as they spoke, the amused smile never leaving her lips. It was hard to see because she was still in the shadows, but Percy thought her eyes glinted with increasing interest as the exchange developed.

"What else do you know?" Annabeth asked Piper, this time in Greek. The woman's smile widened, but for some reason Percy sensed that she could not understand them.

"I... I think I remember something about them granting wishes, but you have to - um," Piper sounded flustered all of a sudden, "Never mind. But we have to speak to her politely, I think. Or she won't talk. The bloody clothes she's washing are supposed to be the clothes of the damned, or those about to die. But I think that bit's a little woolly - like, only during plagues and stuff."

"So we're _not _about to die?" Leo asked, still in - albeit shaky - Greek. "Good to know."

"I don't know." Piper said, sounding frustrated. "I wish I could remember more, but I-"

"We could try the question thing," Hazel suggested quietly. "If we carefully prepare ours and promise to answer hers as a group, maybe we can avoid-"

"-awkward situations." Frank finished for her, smirking. "I know what the capital of Assyria is, so we're good."

Percy tried to laugh, but it came out as a gurgle instead. The song was still affecting him, turning his vocal cords to spider webs - sticky and cumbersome.

"Okay," he said, "We'll try that."

"What do we ask?"

Annabeth tightened her grip on her drawn dagger. Percy had no idea where she'd got it from.

"First," she said, licking her lips, "we ask the terms."

Switching to English, she locked eyes with the creature.

"Okay, you're some kind of Scottish fairy lady. We've established that. We also know you answer three questions if we can answer three in return. We offer these terms: if you answer our three questions, we'll answer your three as a group, meaning that whoever wishes to answer will do so. When we complete the deal, we will each go our way. Now please state your own terms."

The Bean Nighe looked at Annabeth with the same expression of distant amusement, almost as though she were sizing her up for this task.

"Finally, you address me directly," she said, her voice nearly causing Percy's brain to wander off again. "I would say I'm offended, but the truth is I am greatly enjoying this moment."

The demigods said nothing, possibly because it was hard to concentrate both on what she was saying and _how _she was saying it. Listening to her while doing your own thing was like trying to decipher the whisper of leaves in the wind while the birds acted as willing but intrusive translators: utterly impossible unless you happened to be Snow White.

The Bean Nighe glanced at Hazel.

"I see you have suffered much in your life, girl - perhaps as much in your second as you did in your first." she said. "I cannot seem to easily choose a form to suit your wish. Your mother was an easy guess, but as for the other-"

"Please," Hazel whispered, "Just give us your terms."

The woman's eyes glittered in the shadows. She moved slightly, tiny patches of sunlight rippling against her skin, giving it an unexpectedly rough-looking texture.

"You are bold to state your own terms before me," the woman declared, "In my time, I would have snubbed you for pointing your weapons at me alone. But," she continued, "seeing as it has been centuries with my last dealing with mortals-"

"We're not mortals," Nico blurted. "You said so yourself."

"Young demigod, when you have seen the birth of the hills upon which this very forest stands, everything else is mortal whether they live to twenty summers or a hundred." the Bean Nighe answered calmly, though Percy had a feeling she would not remain so if she kept being interrupted.

"As I was saying, I will accept your terms as a toast to the first demigods - indeed, the first people - I have spoken to for hundreds of years. However," she said, her dark eyes glinting in a patch of sunlight again, "I find it only fair that I impose a condition of my own."

"What is-" Annabeth started, then caught herself. "I mean, please state it."

"Should you find yourselves unable to answer one of my questions today, I will reserve the right to ask it again at another date, in addition to another, this one asked to an individual, not a group."

Percy glanced at Annabeth, slightly thrown by this offer. He could tell by her expression that she had not expected it either, and the others were exchanging similarly wary looks.

What was this going to get them into? Annabeth chewing her lip suggested probably nothing good in the long term, although Percy couldn't really see the harm in one extra question, even at a later date. Annabeth was always telling him that the devil lay in the details, but this was the case of a single question. In fact, it seemed like an obvious path to choose, and one that could even go in their favour if they managed the odds adroitly.

"Should we decide to accept those terms," Annabeth said after a few more moments of deliberation, still chewing her lip, "we wish to leave this clearing knowing in advance what the extra question will be."

Percy stuck out his bottom lip, impressed. _Okay_, he thought. _We can deal with that_.

The Bean Nighe tilted her head to the side, considering the daughter of Athena before as though seeing her in a whole new light. The amusement in her smile was gone, instead there was more of a detached interest, as though Annabeth were a kind set apart from the rest of her friends.

"You drive a hard bargain," she commented. "I have not said that often. Perhaps I should not accept these terms after all."

Her dark eyes brushed over each demigod in turn, watching their reactions to that. Leo looked a little relieved - no doubt he preferred to leave as soon as possible anyway - but Nico's expression was defiant. It took Percy a second to remember that shadows were, all things considered, his thing. If the woman decided to harm them after all, the son of Hades could cook up a few skeletons here and there - in this heavily shadow-dappled clearing - to help them out. Will Solace's doctor's note had expired a couple of weeks ago, Nico was free to go Dark Lord Of All Dead Things as much as he wanted.

To his own surprise, Percy felt himself relax. There was very little Nico couldn't handle, especially if he had half a dozen of his friends with him.

Perhaps the Bean Nighe was aware of their own brand of powers, for she eyed them for a moment more before nodding and gesturing gracefully with her hand.

"So be it," she promised. "I agree."

Annabeth immediately retreated to the back of the group, her brow furrowed in thought. When Percy and the others joined her, she was muttering under her breath, listing what they could and could not ask.

"We'll have to go first," she murmured in Greek, then in Latin to make it easier for Frank and Hazel, "so we get all three answers even if we can't answer hers."

They nodded, although Leo pointed out that that strategy would only work if the question they couldn't answer came last.

Once they had decided what their questions would be - and it took a few minutes, for how extended was the Bean Nighe's knowledge? - they turned to face her once more, finding that she had not moved, her face and form still mostly obscured by shadow, her dark eyes shining. The only difference was that now she was touching her cheek with a pale finger, watching them with a thoughtful expression, though she smiled widely when they turned around.

"We're looking for a... a friend." Annabeth said without further preamble. "We think he got lost in this forest. Do you know where we might find him?"

The Bean Nighe took her time to answer, still stroking her cheek with her finger.

"One hears many things in this forest," she said after a moment. "If one were to listen like a blind man and watch like a deaf one, one would find what they sought."

Leo leaned in towards Piper.

"You didn't mention she would answer in riddles." he hissed.

"Because I didn't know," Piper whispered back, sounding frustrated. "_You _try remembering a whole textbook."

The Bean Nighe glanced at them, then raised her voice.

"Go east, until you reach a valley of rock. Perhaps you will find your friend there."

"Well that's definite." Percy muttered.

Annabeth nudged him, then nodded at the woman politely, gesturing for her to ask in turn.

The Bean Nighe considered them a while longer, her ever-present smile still in place, then posed her first question.

"What brings so many demigods to a land forbidden to them?" she asked, her eyes glittering. "Wizards and Hogwarts do not mix with your kind."

"Our teacher sent us," Jason answered shortly. "We have a task here."

"What task?"

"Is that your second question?"

The Bean Nighe narrowed her eyes, but Annabeth shook her head, shooting Jason a warning glance.

"No, it's part of her first. It's only fair." she added, a little defensive, when her words were met with surprise from the others. Annabeth counselling confidence in an untrustworthy creature was novel. So far she'd been the one to bite their heads off if they came close to hinting at their secret.

"We were sent as protection for somebody," Piper said slowly and carefully. "Should that fail, we are to re-establish contact between our two worlds, but only through people like you."

"Take that as you will," Leo said, smirking a little. Piper nudged him, but he just shrugged in response.

The woman's expression did not change, but she was so immobile for a few seconds that Percy knew she was surprised. The fact that she still looked like his mother did not help: she looked exactly like the time he'd managed to spill a whole bottle of purple drink down his front. The memory twinged at his heart.

"Which leads me to my next question," the woman said, just as smoothly.

"Hold on," Annabeth objected, "it's our turn."

For the first time, the woman's eyes flashed with annoyance. Her face grew stony as she turned to address the daughter of Athena, who likewise looked as grim and determined as recent events had allowed her to be.

"I make the rules here, little girl," the woman said, her tone suddenly a lot less melodious, "you would do well to remember that you will only leave this clearing as I see fit."

"But you agreed to our terms-" Annabeth argued.

The woman gave her an ugly smirk and waved a hand slightly.

"I agreed that we would all go our own way, but only after three questions each were asked. As it is, you have asked one, and I wish to proceed to my second."

"But that's not fair," Annabeth said hotly, "We went first, we should-"

"_That's not fair_," the lady mimicked, her features getting uglier by the second as they twisted with mockery. She moved slightly, advancing into a larger patch of light, the gold-lit patches of her skin holding none of the youthful smoothness the rest of her shadow-covered limbs showed. She was smiling at Annabeth. "Do you have any idea how young and insignificant you seem to me at this moment? Demigods of all people should know that nothing has ever had anything to do with fairness. Accept your fate, little girl, and let the grown-ups lead."

Percy glanced at his girlfriend. Her face was red and she was shaking all over, although Percy knew without a doubt that, should she choose to throw the knife in her hand then and now, it would not shake at all.

In fact, time for caution was over, he decided. Creepy shape-shifting wraith ladies could play their word games if they liked, but humiliate Annabeth Chase in his presence they would not.

Casually, he drew his sword.

"I'd be careful what I say, lady," he warned, still fairly politely in his opinion, " 'Cause it might have escaped your notice, but we outnumber you nine to one, and even with all your mumbo-jumbo that can't be good odds. Especially since we've killed hundreds of monsters in the past few months, and you've apparently been doing laundry for the past couple of millenia. In fact, I'm a little out of practice, and if we weren't bound by this little deal of ours, I'd make it my pleasure to take off your head."

The Bean Nighe glared at him.

"Insolence comes naturally to fledglings, it seems," she hissed. "I tell you now, boy, my powers are more than sufficient to ensure you never leave this forest again."

"Oh sure," Leo said easily, as the others also took the hint and started to edge sideways into their favourite attack position - the delta formation. "But you'd end up without your head. Which, you know, has to mess with your washing routine. I mean, you'd get the powder everywhere! Not to mention the blood."

"Silence!" she screeched. "Put your little blades away. You cannot harm me, I am the omen of death itself."

"No. You're a sad little thing, letting time and ego wash away your abilities," Hazel said, managing the feat of still sounding as polite as though she'd been addressing the queen.

The woman's dark eyes flicked to her as she spoke. The rage made her unrecognisable from the ethereal creature she'd been minutes ago.

"The only way people and creatures like you survive is through interaction with humans," Annabeth said, sounding collected despite the Bean Nighe's words. "People who still believe you exist - or, at least, existed. You said yourself you hadn't seen anyone for ages. That's gotta have had a severe indent on your strength."

"Pretty songs and washing clothes," Nico drawled, twirling his black sword in his hands. "I'm terrified. Piper's good with her voice too, you know." he waved his sword towards Piper, who smiled a dangerously pretty smile.

"Oh, I'd love a sing-off." Leo said.

All the demigods had their weapons out by now, and had formed a large semi-circle around the Bean Nighe, who had no retreat option left but the cliff.

The woman herself stood rigid as a pole, her face no longer twisted or intense with fury, but stony and cold as the rocky surface behind her. Her fists were clenched.

"Ask your question," she said, her tone just as stiff. "Let us be done with this travesty."

Annabeth obliged immediately.

"You knew on sight that we were demigods. Who else can do it?"

"Anyone who was excluded from Hecate's realm when she cloaked it. As such, I can, but the centaurs cannot: many demanded to be included when Hecate told them of her decision, at the price of forgetting everything they knew of the world of the gods." Her voice was cold and clipped; Percy's head no longer felt full of cotton wool. She was no longer making any effort to enchant them. "Your aura is unlike any wizard's. You stand out to us like fireflies in a cloud of moths.

"And now, I would ask you: who else have you met like me, from the realm of the gods?" The woman thrust out her chin as she spoke.

She was getting defensive, and if Annabeth weren't still shaking slightly with anger and hate, Percy would almost feel sorry for the creature. In situations like these, the demigods were the ones who often played the role of bullies. In the years since he'd found out he was a demigod, Percy had come across an almost endless number of creatures and people who had been powerful once, but had lost much of their grandeur and fearsome reputation in the dust left by time. Many still acted as though nothing had changed, but really they were all just celebrities past their time, clinging on to the life they had loved and lost - like The Rolling Stones.

Piper took the lead this time.

"Not many, and we've only spoken to a few. First there was the ghosts-"

The Bean Nighe's eyebrows shot up.

_Ah, problem_, Percy thought. Ghosts were still wizards, in a way. They probably weren't on the list of things the Mist didn't cover, which the woman no doubt knew, but ghosts still knew they were demigods because they recognised something chthonic about Nico - which the Bean Nighe did _not _know.

"-and then the Asrai in the lake, the Nuckelavee, and Jack of Kent."

_And the portrait on the fifth floor_, thought Percy, but didn't say it out loud.

Despite her new-found sobriety of behaviour, the Bean Nighe visibly paused to give this some thought. She appeared to believe them on faith - maybe there was even something in her power that prevented them from lying, since Percy himself had not even thought of trying to deceive her - but was having difficulty drawing conclusions from their answers. Percy had no idea what purpose hid behind her questions either.

"None of those creatures come from our world," the Bean Nighe said slowly, watching their faces for clues, "or match up with the lore of the gods."

"With all due respect, my lady," Piper said carefully, "neither do you. We've actually not met a single sentient creature from Greek or Roman technology. We just gave you the names of all the people who recognised us on sight for who we are."

"And the Romans often paired up their gods with local deities when they started to settles on the Isles." Annabeth put in. "Maybe that's why."

The Bean Nighe looked unconvinced, perhaps because it was Annabeth who had spoken last, but gestured for them to ask their last question.

This time, it was Jason who spoke up. They had agreed earlier that he ought to be the one to pose it, since he was now the official diplomat of both camps.

"In the event of a war among wizards, the likes of which could threaten our world as well, which side would you support?"

The Bean Nighe stared at Jason, blinked, then stared again before throwing her head back and letting out a laugh that seemed to echo the cry of crows.

"Silly boy," she admonished, although there was a smile on her lips and the resonating, distracting beauty of her voice was back, "we do not meddle with the affairs of wizards. They do not even _see _us."

There was an edge of bitterness to her voice, confirming Percy's earlier thoughts on the loneliness of living on the very edge of society's awareness.

Jason remained serious, his bespectacled face looking very earnest in the dim and dappled light of the clearing.

"Lord Voldemort has risen again," he declared.

The woman snorted.

"Again, not my concern, godling. A wizard who cannot see me does not know I exist, and so cannot threaten me."

"No, but he can threaten the world you live in," Jason pressed on. "You live in this forest, don't you? Some say Voldemort is recruiting the darkest of magical creatures to his side, promising them a place in wizarding society. If he wins, don't you think he'll need somewhere for them to live and hunt?"

The woman looked taken aback. She hesitated for a second, then shook her head.

"Even if the Forest were the only place he could accommodate his armies in - which I doubt -" she said dryly, "Even if it were so, you misunderstand my place in these affairs. I would not support either side: I do not fight, I hold no knowledge of importance to them. I _do not exist_ to them."

"But what if there was a way to make you real again?" Jason said softly.

The woman eyed him doubtfully.

"_R__eal _again?"

"Yeah," Percy said. "Lift the Mist. Make people able to see you again. You get to predict death and play twenty questions with passer-bys just like the good old days, eh?"

"And I suppose you have it in your power to make that happen?" the Bean Nighe said, with a surprising amount of sarcasm considering she'd been away from teenagers and the Youth of Today in general for hundreds of years. "Whereby I end up so grateful that I vouch my loyalty to you ? You think it is that simple? You will not obtain what you want, little demigods."

"What we want is your answer."

The woman scowled, then straightened.

"To give you that, I need to ask you a question of my own. I am not ungenerous," she said, smirking a little, "count it as my third and final question if you like. But I think it will serve us both in the long run."

She eyed them each in turn for a few moments before posing her last question.

"You ask for my support in some supposed oncoming war. I wonder if you know whom you are addressing. Demigods are known to be reckless, but even I had not considered that you would try to make an ally of an enemy. Do you truly know who and what I am, what you would be doing to unleash me upon the world once again?"

As she spoke, her expression changed from mocking to something that eerily resembled hunger. Before the demigods could do more than take in her words, she stepped into a patch of light, for the first time completely leaving her sanctuary of shadows. At once, the pale glowing figure was gone, replaced by a haggard wraith, ancient beyond all reckoning, bent and wizened with age. Her hair hung to her waist in thin white wisps, her skin lined and cracked, stretched over the bone in some places and accumulating in thin folds at others. The Bean Nighe stretched her lips into a horrible grin, revealing very few teeth and the black inside of her mouth. Her eyes, now glazed with white and gleaming silver in the startling light of the sun, met the demigods' shocked faces and creased with humour as she cackled at their reactions. When she spoke, her voice cracked like thawing ice in the mountain, harsh as a raven's caw.

"My question is this, demigods: should there be a war, and should I decide to support you, and should you succeed in winning said war - what place will I and others like me occupy in this new world of yours?"

Her blind eyes glittered.

"Can you guarantee me a better life than Lord Voldemort? Who of the gods and wizards will welcome us with open arms? Do you truly think you can merge two worlds, whose very existence hangs in the balance of your actions?"

Percy looked at Annabeth, and saw the others exchanging glances as well. There really had to be something about this woman, or about this place, that prevented them from lying. No words would come to him, and the others seemed similarly speechless.

The simple truth of it was that they could not answer. What could they say when the woman asked about the future and the only thing they felt certain of was the present?

There was triumph in the hag's expression, her cataract-covered eyes narrow and gleaming with success. With a sinking feeling of confirmation, Percy realised she had planned this outcome. Perhaps not the question itself, but she had counted on an impossible one to pose last in order to warrant her extra-contractual fourth question.

If he were honest with himself, he'd known she was going to pull something on them from the start. This was how stories like this went, wasn't it? Rapunzel, the Sphinx, the bridge of three questions... Tricky villains gave the intruding hero a choice or quest with all outcomes detailed out for them, and if they couldn't fulfil it, they would suffer the consequences as the villain had - inevitably - planned from the start.

Perhaps the antagonists of the story knew people better than people knew themselves. Maybe heroes were so... so all the _same, _that even villains, who were always defeated in the stories, learned to use them to their full extent. Sure, heroes usually won in the end, but if they hadn't possessed that fatal flaw of predictability from the start, their troubles would never have occurred at all.

With a jolt, Percy realised he was automatically placing himself and his friends in the heroes' position. Did the wraith see them thus as well? What if she saw _them _as the villains? Had they tricked _her _already? Percy thought of their hushed conversation prior to their first exchange, full of thinking ahead and planning both questions and answers, and immediately felt uneasy.

Unaware of Percy's uncharacteristically philosophical reversal of perspective, Annabeth was cautiously taking a couple of steps forward. She was clenching her dagger more tightly than ever, and every move she made betrayed wariness and caution, but her voice was steady when she spoke.

"It seems we are... unable to answer that. As you no doubt planned." she said, flatly echoing Percy's thoughts.

The wraith smirked, showing her only front tooth.

Annabeth spoke again.

"What was the question you were planning to ask us at a later date?"

"What I would ask of you," the Bean Nighe rasped, "is your name."

Annabeth was stunned into silence for long enough that Thalia took up the task of spluttering and looking indignant.

"All that, for a name?" she said, her black eyebrows so arched and furrowed into her brow they were practically a line across her forehead.

"Whose name?" Nico asked, frowning. "You said you would only ask one of us."

"That is my business," the wraith cawed. "Now that you know the question, the date and recipient of it remain in my control."

"But... you already know some of our names," Piper blurted. "You heard us-"

"I will not explain myself any further," the Bean Nighe said snippily. "Go, demigods, in the knowledge that you have met one of my kind - and lost."

She started laughing, her old voice cracking and gurgling at the back of her throat. It sounded painful, but that did not stop her from throwing her head back and increasing the volume of her guffaws. Very quickly the sound of it became too loud to tolerate, and the demigods turned on their heels as one, running out with their hands over their ears, the crone's laughter reverberating in their heads for a long time after they left the clearing.

After running for a few minutes - Percy had no idea where they were running to, but he found it hard to care - they finally came to a halt, gathering at the foot of a large, twisted conifer that was so tall it dwarfed all the trees around it. They stood there, hands on their knees and breathing heavily, looking at each other in silent agreement that they had emerged from a decidedly strange situation.

As usual, Percy was the first to speak.

"So, we're now in debt. Sucks for the one to answer."

"She didn't mention any specific date," Hazel offered hopefully. "It can be years before we see her again."

"Yeah," Leo said, holding his side and wheezing a little. "I'm not counting this place as one of my favourite vacation spots."

Meanwhile, having recovered more quickly than the others, Thalia was busily walking around their group, bow out and arrow notched, alternately peering through the trees and glancing up at the sky obscured by evergreen branches. She looked preoccupied. Percy supposed it was because they had probably spent more time in the forest than many of them had realised: the sun was already fading in strength, and whilst it was nowhere near dusk yet, the temperature was definitely falling along with it.

"Did anyone notice the direction we were running in?" she asked, a worried frown on her face. Thalia seldom looked anything other than worried, bored or impassive, and wandering around a monster-infested forest apparently did not warrant a change.

"Wasn't it northwest?" Jason said, readjusting his glasses and looking around.

"I thought it was southwest," Frank mumbled. "Although I suppose there's a reason I was never chosen to patrol wooded areas in New Rome."

"We definitely went to the west," Thalia confirmed, "but Jason's right: we've deviated to the north. Apollo is in the east - in a stone valley, apparently. We should start making for it now."

"Aye, aye, Captain." Leo said, ruffling his curls back into some rough semblance of a place.

"Um... The path disappeared ages ago." Piper pointed out.

"Yup... Just a sec..." Leo muttered, rummaging around his toolbelt for a few moments before triumphantly pulling out something an waving it in the air.

Percy expected to see one of Leo's newest marvels. Perhaps a fine-tuned version of his Archimedes ball, or a gadget that would laser-point a path out to them according to godly satellites (otherwise known as planets and moons - there was a reason they'd been named for Graeco-Roman deities). He then remembered that technology wasn't very effective in the magical world, and that the object in Leo's hand was, in fact, a compass.

Leo beamed at it.

"It's from the _Argo II_. Only bit of muggle tech on board. I unmounted it just before leaving camp, 'cause I wanted some part of it with me, you know?"

Everyone goggled at him. Leo's face fell.

"What?"

"You said 'muggle'," Annabeth said. "Not 'mortal'."

Leo's expression switched to confusion, then veered to the slightly defensive.

"Yeah, well I-"

"Aw, you're going native!" Piper cooed. That type of voice wasn't at all typical for her, but no-one was complaining at the change in tone of the conversation. "Look at you, all wizardly and magical, and stuff..."

"Hello, it's a _compass_." Leo huffed. "How much less wizardly can you g-"

"And he's not even denying it!" Thalia crowed, joining in.

"Leo Valdez, the next mind of the wizarding world." Hazel declared in a sing-song voice. "You should start going by _Merlin II_."

"Or Leo the Loopy." Jason grinned.

"Valdez the Vonderful Vizard."

"Leo the Lovely Lum-"

"Oh, shut up." Leo snapped, stalking past the others as they fell about laughing.

It felt good to laugh at such things, silly though they might be. Even Annabeth was giggling as Leo studiously ignored them, his bright red ears betraying his act of unawareness. Percy watched his girlfriend as all the tension, anger, and resentment, hidden and repressed for weeks, melted away from her face and body, leaving her as radiant as he knew she could be.

Unfortunately, the effects of laughter only lasted for a few moments. The demigods soon sobered and set after Leo, who had stalked into the trees without a glance behind to see if the others were following. Although more laughter sounded as Frank tripped over a root, pulling Jason and Percy down with him as he fell, it lasted a for a lot less time, for they were now properly, utterly lost.

Not that it mattered for the moment, exactly. Leo's compass was getting them in the direction they needed, and they had a vague idea of where Apollo could be, thanks to the Bean Nighe's answer, the accuracy of which they did not even bother doubting since the binding magic of the deal had so obviously prevented lies from being told.

However, this was a part of the forest that was twice as intimidating as the one they had entered. For one thing, the path was indeed gone. They were charging through the undergrowth, swatting at nettles and spider webs and other - less mundane - things that were better not to dwell on. Thalia kept wincing and scowling heavily in their direction as they walked. No doubt compared to her huntresses they were making an amount of noise similar to that of crazed elephants chasing after banana thieves.

That said, if anything did hear them bulldozing through the woods and cared, they didn't do much about it. Perhaps it was because it was daylight, but Percy had the feeling that they were not in much immediate danger. Werewolves and giant spiders were said to populate this place, but it appeared that they preferred to get busy later in the day.

Centaurs were perhaps their most pressing worry, especially now that the demigods knew they would not recognise them for who they were. Students whispered, teachers warned and older students bragged - life away from the gods appeared to have turned the horsemen into fearsome creatures, more savage and primal than most mythological beings the demigods had met. Percy thought of the Ichthyocentaurs, whom Hazel, Leo and Frank had met while he and Annabeth were in Tartarus, and smiled faintly. He would have bet a century in Tartarus that centaurs of the Forbidden Forest would not send them off with home-made brownies. Home-made arrows, maybe, but not cake. Which was a shame, he thought, as his stomach rumbled. Brownies sounded really good right now.

They walked on, for an hour at least. Conversation was sparse, for all of them were preoccupied with their own thoughts. The Bean Nighe's words, while spoken in anger and defensiveness, had struck more than one chord.

The thing that most niggled Percy was her taunts that they would hardly give her a better life than Voldemort would, if they won. Creatures like her were ignored or feared, in their world as much as the wizarding world. How could they, strangers in a foreign land as they were, hope to change it so?

The struggle was indeed complex and large-scale, going beyond Voldemort and his Death Eaters, and only now was Percy beginning to see what Chiron had hinted at when he'd said they would often be out of their depth. The magical world wasn't just divided between those who believed Harry and those who didn't. It was divided almost beyond repair, something the demigods had realised even in the few weeks they had spent here, between wizarding families, blood prejudice, tradition and novelty, conformity and freedom. In such a small and scarcely populated world, the thought was dizzyingly worrying. How could it hope to survive without radical change?

After another long stretch of silence, during which they managed to keep on track only due to Leo's compass and Thalia's vigilant surveillance of the area, Piper spoke up.

"Jason, how did you know Apollo was going to be punished by being made mortal?"

Their curiosity pricked, everyone turned to stare at Jason, who looked like he'd just been startled out of a daydream.

"Um... well, I had a dream about it a while ago. I saw Zeus talking to a few gods about which measure would be best to discipline Apollo, and Athena suggested making him mortal again," he glanced at Annabeth, who - seemingly against her will - didn't look overly impressed by her mother's suggestion, "but this time with literally, like, no powers."

"He's been mortal before?" Hazel asked, frowning.

"Yeah, a couple of times actually." Frank answered, holding a branch off the path for her. She smiled and touched his shoulder in thanks, and he smiled back before continuing.

"Once when he served Admetus, an old Argonaut and the king of Pherae, and another time when he served Laomedon, another king, but of Troy." he recited with perfect recollection. "But in both cases, although he _was _mortal, he still retained some of his powers. He even made Admetus' cows bear twins for the entire time he looked after them."

Annabeth was looking at Frank in amazement.

"How d'you know all of that?" she asked. "I'd never heard of Apollo serving a king of Troy."

Frank shrugged, and looked embarrassed.

"I used to think - hope, really - that I was a son of Apollo, seeing as I was good at archery, an all." he mumbled. "I read up on him a lot, so I still remember stuff."

"That's really cool, Frank." Hazel said with a smile. "It's silly, but now I can't believe I've never done research on _my _dad. Nico, did you-"

Nico shook his head, chuckling darkly.

"Didn't need to. I lived in the Underworld on and off for ages. I got to know what he's like pretty well, and Persephone's occasional jealous rants supplied all the gossip and detail."

"Not that you'd ever listen, huh?" Percy asked, grinning. "Gossip ain't your style, death boy."

"Definitely not," Nico agreed seriously. "Nor have I ever attempted to see for myself if his helm of invisibility makes the wearer look like Darth Vader."

Leo shot him a look over his shoulder and grinned.

"I knew you weren't entirely hopeless!"

Nico smiled faintly, but Piper was still thoughtful.

"So if Apollo's been mortal before, he'll know what to do to become a god again?"

"I hope so, 'cause I ain't babysitting him." muttered Frank.

Thalia shot him a smirk.

"That's 'cause you ain't seen him, sunshine." she said, her eyes twinkling. "Apollo is _hot_."

The boys all shot her confused looks.

"I thought you'd sworn off boys...?" Jason asked, trailing off vaguely, trying not to sound like an over-interested brother.

"Well I hadn't made the oath when I first made that contemplation." Thalia pointed out, prompting laughter, a blush from Hazel and Annabeth to mock-gasp.

"Don't let Artemis hear you," she admonished, though she was smirking. "Anyhow, he's also conceited beyond belief. And I doubt he'll look the same if he's truly powerless."

"Good," Piper said, also smirking at Thalia's unperturbed back, "we can't have our favourite virgin huntress going all gooey-eyed at the sight."

Hazel was blushing to the point of going maroon now, and looking increasingly flustered, so Percy hurriedly changed the subject. He often all too easily forgot that she was still unused to modern subjects of conversation. Nico also sometimes had similar reactions to boys' banter in the dormitory, but Hazel was a case by herself. You could say 'underwear' and she'd colour like an alcoholic's ethylic test.

The exchange gave way to another stretch of comfortable silence, during which Hazel kept glancing nervously at Thalia's confident gait while Piper tried not to giggle. Annabeth soon reverted to the usual sanctuary of her own thoughts, something Percy knew she needed to do when she'd been upset, but he wished he could talk to her in private. She'd had a 'bit of a breakdown' earlier, to quote their new and severely prone to understatement British friends, and he wanted to talk to her beyond the hushed 'you okay?' and squeezed hand they'd exchanged earlier.

But the fates really must have had it in for Percy that day, for just as he was going to pull his girlfriend to the back of the group for privacy, Leo came to a sudden stop, causing Thalia dodge him nimbly, though Jason wasn't so lucky and walked into him, sending them sprawling towards thorny bushes and damp earth.

Scrambling up and swearing under their breaths, the two boys looked at what had caused Leo to stop: up in front of them was a sudden lightening of surroundings, like the sun had finally found a spot where it could fill the whole space with its light. The trees thinned, and beyond lay a landscape the demigods could not quite see.

In her element, Thalia took the lead. She motioned for the others to stay quiet and still, then took out another arrow, swapping it for the one already in her hand, and notched it into her bow. It was a habit of hers. She only did it if she had time to fully prepare her strike, like now, although this time her move would be defensive instead of offensive.

Silent as a shadow, she edged towards the part where the trees disappeared completely, gradually descending into a crouch as she neared the open space. If her hair had been four feet longer, she could have made a regular Pocahontas.

She peered around her, the arrow in her bow never less than steady and primed for attack, but all was quiet as the demigods waited with baited breath. At last, after a minute's reckoning, Thalia motioned for the others to come out.

They went to join her, as quietly as they could, although there was no use pretending that they would approach unheard. Percy swore to himself for umpteenth time that he would learn to step silently if it was the last thing he did. It was starting to impeach on his pride: he could barely sneak up on Annabeth without her turning at the last second and poking in the ribs, before whispering "You suck at stealth, Seaweed Brain." That said, she always kissed him after such dismal failures, but it was the principle of the thing that mattered.

As they drew level with Thalia where she stood, blinking in the sudden bright light, the demigods realised why the trees had thinned out so quickly. They had reached a small, grey valley, and were currently standing on its western side, staring down at a hundred-foot drop that made Hazel go slightly green and back away from the edge.

"Looks like we found the stone valley," Nico said. "Does anyone see a mortal sobbing over a lost godhood?"

"I say we go down and check out the valley," Frank said tersely, peering over the edge, his natural anxiety having curiously waned to be replaced by the confident demeanour of a seasoned soldier under potential attack. "Technically, we have a vantage point here, but that's not much good if we don't know what that's supposed to protect us from."

"But there's no path," Hazel said, the forced calm in her voice clearly heard even as she determinedly looked ahead to hide it.

"We'll have to climb down." Thalia confirmed after having scrutinised the edges of the valley and come to the same conclusion. "Leo, d'you have rope?"

Leo nodded and immediately pulled out a long coil of it from his tool-belt and handed it it to the huntress, who immediately tied it the the stump of the nearest tree, whose trunk was thick and firmly secured to the ground by a myriad of roots.

Percy glanced at Hazel, who was looking a very determined sort of calm. He knew she didn't like heights, or just generally being in danger of leaving solid ground, but she was doing her uttermost to act like it wasn't even close to being an issue. Thalia was also notoriously afraid of heights, but that only seemed to apply when she was openly falling or flying - apparently scaling down a long distance of slippery, mossy rock with her back turned to the drop was no obstacle.

"Frank," Percy found himself saying, "Why don't you fly Hazel down and we'll meet you there?"

Hazel threw him a look of unbound relief framed by coloured cheeks. Frank also seemed pleased at not having to balance his burly frame on a rope being used by seven other people.

"What about me?" Leo asked, twisting his hands nervously. "Not that I can't climb, really, but I've never actually scaled a cliff before and we don't have gloves, or a harness, or-"

"Sure, I'll take you." Frank agreed, clapping Leo's shoulder, making him him jerk forward and nearly fly over the edge after all.

Within the next ten seconds, he had transformed into his favourite flying shape - a bald eagle - and had delicately picked Hazel of the ground, flapping off to the bottom of the valley, disappearing behind several boulders protruding from the cliff's face. Just as Thalia was leading the way on the rope, Frank came flapping back up, picked up a slightly apprehensive Leo by the seams of his t-shirt, and glided back down again as Percy helped Annabeth follow after Thalia.

For their conveniently shape-shifting friend, the whole operation took about thirty seconds. For the others, it sometimes felt as though it would take thirty minutes. The rope was of undeniable quality - it was of demigod make after all - but somewhat too thin for the purpose of scaling rock, and its solidity did not make it any easier on the demigods' hands, especially coupled with the scrapes and bruises they collected from continuously bumping against the cliff as they climbed down.

They had gone for the safer option of making one person use the rope at any one time, but the journey was still far from secure even when Thalia successfully called up that she had reached safe ground and held the rope steady for those who came after her.

Percy himself could feel the sweat beading on his back and brow despite the cool temperature as he navigated the awkward, rough edges of the cliff's hand and footholds, trying not to make too much noise lest they wake up something they would very much like had stayed asleep.

Finally, when all of them had reached the ground safely, the demigods looked around in mild apprehension, dusting their hands on their trousers and peering into the depths of this new, grim view that had not been improved by a change in perspective.

The valley stretched out in both directions, as valleys were wont to do, the part on their right going slightly uphill whilst to their left the path - if tumbled rock and dead trees could be called that - straggled for a little way and then appeared to head down. If Percy hadn't already been in a place that was actually a living being, he would have made the comparison of preparing to journey down some fell creature's bowels.

"I say we split up," Thalia said when the redundant silence had stretched on for nearly a minute. "Cover more ground."

Annabeth automatically bit her lip, no doubt about to protest that they had no idea what kind of monsters they could find here, but caught herself at the last second. They had left Hogwarts and all the precaution it required behind them. They were on a quest, and they had faced worst. She nodded.

Percy, Annabeth, Frank, Hazel and Nico elected to go right, while Jason, Piper, Leo and Thalia agreed to go left. Any messages were to be transmitted via the DA coins, though Nico volunteered to act as a shadow-taxi in case they met any tight spots.

Once they had separated and the gloom of the place had cut them off from each other in more than just the conventional ways, the silence set in. It wasn't the kind of silence that was so absolute it was deafening, quite the contrary. There were still some little sounds, like tiny pieces of gravel not even needing a breath of wind to fall from the sides of the valley, minuscule scuttling sounds that betrayed the presence of insect life, and there was the general, almost un-hearable whisper of life all around that said a forest was nearby and teeming with life - although admittedly it didn't look like it for the moment. But these were the kind of sounds that underlined the overall silence, made you aware of it and afraid of what it contained - or worse, what it didn't. Silent flesh-eating monsters were always much worse than hissing, slavering, and growling flesh-eating monsters.

For a long while, Percy and his little group picked their way across and around the massive boulders of rock that lay in their way like the petrified remains of fallen giants. Their breathing grew a little harsher as they climbed higher and further. It sounded too fast, too alive for this place, like a hummingbird zipping and zooming around in an abandoned factory.

Without Thalia, the tracking was revealed to be more than difficult, especially as their feet mostly walked on bare rock, where they saw for themselves that leaving traces of their passage was tricky, let alone pick up on someone else's.

That said, there was little to no actual tracking to do. The Bean Nighe had said that Apollo would be in the valley, and since the demigods had stumbled upon it somewhere in the middle and split off in both directions, logically one of their two groups would find him eventually.

Percy was starting to wonder why Hermes had sent them after all. If his powers had truly been affected by Hecate's overall presence in the magical world, surely it at least did not stop him from flying up and down enough to scan the entire gorge?

"Percy," came a whisper to his right, making him jump.

It was Frank, who had retreated from his position as leader of the party to edge closer to the son of Poseidon. There was a worried frown on his face, and he looked intensely preoccupied with something. Maybe he didn't like the idea of being sent on a wild goose chase off to find wayless gods.

"Sorry, man," Percy smiled tiredly, "lost in my thoughts."

Frank did not seem to mind, though the frown did not lessen.

"What do we do if we find Apollo?"

Percy blinked. They'd covered this before, with Hermes, he seemed to remember, but the god had rather typically given them a vaguer than vague answer.

"Um... Well, take him with us back to the castle, I guess."

"Yeah, but... where do we keep him?"

There was a slight vein pulsing on Frank's temple. Percy had noticed it was more a mark of nerves or worry rather than anger in Frank's case. One did not go 'keeping' gods, unless one's name was Gaea or Sisyphus.

"I dunno, in our dormitories?" Percy shook his head. "The house-elves might see him, but I don't see any other option."

"What about the DA room?"

Percy gave this some thought.

"Harry said we can't use the room if someone's already using it," he remembered, "and we'll need it twice a week for the DA lessons."

"Well, what if... What if we tell Harry about him? Not that he's a god, obviously," came the hasty amendment as Annabeth shot him a withering glance over her shoulder, "but maybe that he's... you know, a victim of Voldemort who needs shelter."

"Harry's loyal to Dumbledore," Annabeth objected flatly, "he'd never agree to hiding someone without his consent."

"You know, I think he might be persuaded to," Hazel said, sounding thoughtful. "I know Hermione's pretty upset that Dumbledore was forced to let Umbridge teach at the school, and his authority's been undermined by her promotion as High Inquisitor. Maybe we can persuade Harry that it would be in Dumbledore's best interests not to know about someone we're hiding - spare his reputation, you know."

"What's left of it," Annabeth said, her mouth twitching. "Seen the papers lately?"

No, as a matter of fact, Percy hadn't. Annabeth often talked like that, as cynical as the most _en vogue _satirist of the magical world, throwing in facts from the news and actuality like she'd been born in the magical world and never left it. Either she'd been doing ridiculous amounts of reading up or she was putting on a good show of knowledge, but either way Percy was far from being on par with her. Probably a solar system away, in fact.

"We can try telling Harry," Percy said, drawing the words out for as long as he could to give himself time to think. "And take it from there. Make Apollo disappear if Harry still wants Dumbledore to know about it."

Nico looked back at them and raised an eyebrow.

"Are we sure we want a god around the place, though? Apollo won't be a god anymore, but I doubt he'll be comfortable in Hogwarts."

"I doubt we'll be comfortable with him there either," Annabeth admitted, "I'll be sitting on the edge of my seat twenty-four seven, expecting to hear how Flitwick's enchanted orchestra has gone rampant, or that Trelawney's found a new master."

"Don't tempt the Fates," Percy and Nico mumbled together.

"We could ask Chiron," Hazel piped up from the front. "He owes us one for sending us here in the first place. He could arrange for Hecate to aether-fly Apollo to Cam- _Ohmygods!_"

"What's up?" Percy asked, stumbling over a rock and having to catch himself on a dead tree branch.

In the split-second that followed, he heard Annabeth's sharp intake of breath, a muttered curse in Italian from Nico, and a faint _whoosh _from somewhere behind him to his left. The latter sound felt somewhat familiar, and, strangely, so was the sight that greeted his eyes as he righted himself. Taut bow, arrow, scars and all.

"I believe I am, lad." said the voice at the end of the arrow currently being pointed at them.

Percy spluttered.

"_Jack_?"

The man who owned the voice grinned, a somewhat contrasting sight with his formidable bow still being pointed at their chests.

"Aye, that'll be me."

"We had no idea you were there!" Hazel exclaimed, hand on her chest as she calmed a racing heart, her voice too loud in the gloomy valley, resonating as it hit the rocks.

Jack gave them a reproachful look, his sharp eyes seeking each of their faces in turn.

"Aye, that's the idea, luv. Although s'no wonder. Makin' the kind o' noise what would wake the hills, chattin' and jabberin' and debatin' like they's still in school. What do them ole' crackpots teach you these days, how to _talk _the monsters away?"

Annabeth and Hazel flushed and looked away, but Percy threw furtive glances around them. Frank had disappeared. Where on earth...?

"You think pointing that bow at us is gonna make us any quieter?" Nico said irritably, leaning back when Jack deliberately waved it a little closer to his face.

"Nothin' a li'l fear won't put right," Jack said with a shrug, finally lowering his bow. He grinned at the demigods, showing off his predatory grin like a wolf in front of something young and juicy. "So, me darlin's. Of chasing rogue deities, are we?"

Annabeth opened her mouth slightly, then closed it again, frowning.

"You heard us talking," she accused him.

"Oh, aye," Jack said, grinning, "an' fer longer'n you think, I'll wager. Where's me ole' Leo th' Loopy, eh? His compass lead 'im off to fairyland?"

Hazel stared at him in astonishment.

"How long have you been following us?" she asked, her voice going shrill.

"Long 'nuff that your little hunter friend noticed me a while back," Jack said without a trace of shame. "Smart, that lass. Even showed me where to step so I dinnae walk inta you lot."

"Thalia knew you were following us?" Annabeth asked sharply.

Jack ignored her.

"Your godly friend ent 'round 'ere, mate," he said, looking at Percy, "I had a scout 'round, he ent 'ere 'less he's a rock. He isn't, is 'e?" he added, looking hopeful.

"Er, no." Percy said, struggling to focus on him when Frank was still missing. Where had he gone? Had Jack kidnapped him before showing himself?

Jack shrugged again.

"'Shame. Woulda made a nice new paperweight."

The utter uncertainty in every one of Hazel's features at this caused Jack to burst out laughing after one look at her. He touched her cheek briefly, shaking his head.

"Och, but 'ere's a frightened lil rabbit," he said, not without kindness. "Don' worry, sweetheart, I ain't gon touch yer friend. I jes' hope for your sake the other less considerate folks in 'ere have extended him the same courtesy." he added, with a smile made of charm and broken glass.

Hazel pushed his hand away, her eyes narrowed. Her tiny figure, staring up so defiantly at Jack o' Kent's swaggering, bulky frame, looked almost like it had come from a comic book.

Out of the corner of his eye, Percy saw something move against the cliff's rock face, like a little shadow darting out of sight. He turned his head to get a better look, but found himself staring at stone, bare but for the cracks of wear and the patterns of age-old strata.

Annabeth just sighed.

"Jack, much as we're glad to see you instead of - I don't know, centaurs or something - can we get to the point and learn why you're fol- _glp_!"

She lurched forward, and Percy shot out his hand to prevent her from falling, automatically preparing to uncap Riptide and spin around to kill the thing that had attacked her, but within a second she was already steadying herself and pulling at his sleeve, telling him not to do anything. Her cheeks were pink as she began searching her pockets, determinedly not meeting anyone's eyes.

"I'm fine, I just forgot that I... Oh, where is it, I had it here somewhere..."

After a few moments she pulled out from her back pocket a large golden coin, blushing a little deeper when Percy's look of confusion morphed into a grin.

"I forgot they were set to vibrate..." she muttered, as the others snickered and Jack, for the first time since they'd known him, was left looking a little lost.

She turned the DA galleon over in her hands, inspecting the sides of the coin to read whatever message had been set on it. Her face took on a look of surprise bordering on alarm, then confusion. She immediately handed it to Percy, eyes wide.

Percy squinted at the coin's small writing in the dim light, the letters jumping out at him immediately thanks to Annabeth's idea of having changed the alphabet to Greek. He managed to read the message without a problem, but was left nonplussed by its contents nonetheless.

He handed the coin to Nico, who took it it with curiosity, but whose expression quickly changed to suspicious confusion.

_Apollo here. V cnfsd. SOS. Bring earplugs._

"Trouble?" Hazel asked Percy quietly.

Percy nodded, showing her the coin. He wasn't certain, but the message sounded far from successful or relieved.

"We need to go," he said, and without further preamble they turned their backs on an increasingly left-out and annoyed Jack and raced down the path.

The way down was easier, even for Percy who had sea legs as opposed to mountain legs. They skipped over roots, jumped from rock to rock and skirted around massive boulders like they'd been training for years, for some reason never needing to pause and stop to think about the best route. It would have been a nice feeling, Percy thought, if it hadn't been for the pressing urgency that kept its fist knotted around his insides and the protesting Scottish highlander who was bounding after them, calling, cursing and swearing as he fired question after question and they chose not to answer.

Dimly, Percy was pleased that Jack had apparently abandoned all standards on stealth. Compared to the smooth, efficient movements of the demigods as they hurried to rejoin their friends, Jack was making the sounds of an overweight pirate dancing the rumba on a pogo stick, cursing parrot included.

After a while of heavy breathing, footsteps thudding on bone-dry rock and a good few minutes of quiet Gallic grumblings once Jack had finally given up pressing them for details, they reached the point where they had initially climbed down. They forged ahead, though as they grew closer Percy started to think he could hear sounds that decidedly did not belong in a forbidden forest's hidden valley. The first few times he stopped to listen there was nothing to note except Nico's ragged breathing or a particularly colourful curse from Jack. The fourth time he stopped, Percy thought he heard... shouts?

Signalling for the others to slow down, the group eventually came to a halt behind a large rock that had managed to lodge itself smack in the middle of the track, despite the narrowness of the gorge at this particular point, effectively blocking the way completely. Percy put a finger to his lips, feeling a little hypocritical as he did so because the air coming in and out of his tired lungs was just as noisy as Annabeth's and Nico's. Jack, of course, was in a league of his own.

Maybe it was because she was so light, but Hazel appeared to be less tired and more alert than the rest of them after their chase. She was cradling something in both hands, but put it away in her jacket pocket before Percy could see what it was. Nodding reassuringly at Percy and before anyone could stop her, she heaved herself up on the boulder, nimbly making her way up the rock until she had reached the top, where she flattened herself against the surface like a lizard in a sunny spot.

Looking around, and noting with worry that Frank was still not among them, Percy bit his tongue to keep himself from shouting up at her to come down, knowing it would betray their position, but also knowing full well that she was exposing herself to whatever danger the others were facing at the moment. That was if they were even there, Percy corrected himself. The sound of shouting had been faint but barely resonant at all, which said they were probably closer than the volume suggested, but you never knew in mountainous area.

A couple of moments later, Hazel was wriggling back down, sliding back to the ground on her front the last few feet. She dusted off her hands and clothes, her face strangely set.

"Well?" Percy whispered.

Hazel looked at him like she didn't quite know how to.

"You'll see." she said. That was all.

She turned on her heel and walked soundlessly to the part of the path where the rock leaned against the face of the cliff like a tired traveller. Percy gaped after her while Jack grinned.

"Oh, I like her," he said.

"She's not available to like," Nico growled, the words springing automatically and unbidden from his mouth.

"Yours, is she?" Jack asked, scratching his stubbled cheek as they watched Hazel find a spot between the rock and the cliff and wiggle through, her curly cinnamon hair the only bright thing in the world for a second, then disappear as the rock swallowed her up.

"More so than yours, at any rate," Nico snapped. "She's my sister."

Jack eyed Nico up and down, and smirked.

"I can see the resemblance," he sniggered.

Nico flushed, and the shadows around them - grown larger and longer in the past hour - lurched alarmingly, as though they had suddenly remembered that their centre of gravity was not, as they had thought, the ground, but rather this scary young man and his commands. But Percy had recovered from his stupefaction at Hazel's bizarre behaviour and put out a hand to stop his cousin from nuking their - what, ally?

"Jack," he addressed the man quietly, "I don't care why you're here, but if you're gonna stay you're gonna be quiet as hell. Our friends are over there, and they might be in trouble."

Annabeth nodded in agreement, her expression matching the surroundings.

"And don't even _think _of doing anything fishy."

Jack put a hand to his chest as though mortally offended.

"Och, talk aboot a blow to the heart, lad! There I goes, savin' yer life and yeh repay me by doubting me? That stings, lads, it really does."

"Shh!" Percy flapped his hands at them.

"Keep talking, _mate_, and I'll give you something that'll do more than sting," Annabeth hissed at the highlander.

With any luck, Percy thought desperately, any passing monsters would mistake her for an ill-tempered snake.

Jack only winked.

"I look forward to that," he said, so low that it came out a purring growl.

Annabeth looked at him coldly for a second, then slapped him, the sound resonating around them.

Percy face-palmed. It was a wonder they hadn't been set upon by monsters a dozen times already. Then, with a jolt, he realised the most likely reason for that. The feeling of slight dread suddenly making itself at home in his stomach, Percy gulped and tapped Annabeth on her shoulder.

"Annabeth... Um, I think you just slapped the reason we're still alive," he said.

"What?"

"You weren't just following us, were you?" he said, addressing Jack, who looked put-out at having been slapped but not particularly angry. "You were protecting us."

Jack massaged the side of his face, eyeing Annabeth with an edge of apprehension, and snorted.

"Looks like I barely needed to," he muttered. "Bloody effing kids..."

Annabeth looked unrepentant. If anything, she looked even more suspicious.

"Who sent you?" she asked.

Jack looked exasperated.

"Look gal, I don' obey any orders 'cept me own. There was I, ambling 'round me home, lookin' fer summat crunchy fer lunch, and all o' sudden there's lil miss Scary Eyes 'ere," he pointed at Annabeth, who glared back, "throwing a hissy fit 'bout being fed up o' her life. Well, I says, what with the noise the lass is making, there'll be all sorts o' unpleasant company all kinds of soon. So, says I, Jack, it's 'bout time ya get your arse movin' again and rustle up some sorta pastime, an' help these kids on the way if ya have to. Next thing I know, there I was, followin' ye bunch of geezers into the very depths o' this godforsaken pit of a place, tryin' not ta scare ya outta yer boots as I'm shooin' off every son of a bastard what tried ta eat ya."

"So you're doing this for fun?" Percy translated. It was hard to keep up with his way of speaking, which meshed together several accents into something that wasn't quite Scottish, but certainly far from the English Percy had been speaking all his life.

"Ach, lad, a man can deal wiv storms, a wife, famine, _six _wives, monsters an' th' plague, but if there's one thing that can finish a man," he grimaced and made a cutting motion towards his throat, "tis boredom."

"Ah yes, the well-know cure to boredom," Nico drawled, "associating with outcasts, fighting off monsters and tracking fallen deities."

"Well it fair beats fairy-huntin', in any case," Jack concluded, shrugging his massive shoulders, his silver-beaded braid bouncing on the brooch that held his kilt up.

Percy was about to say something else, but just then came Hazel's voice from their left.

"Guys, hurry up!"

Her curly head was poking out from the wiggle-hole she'd found a minute ago, staring at them reproachfully, before ducking and disappearing again.

The remaining demigods gave Jack a final bemused glance, shrugged helplessly at each other, and followed Hazel through her hidey-hole.

It was very narrow and very obvious that Jack would not be able to squeeze through unless he planned on becoming a handful of foul-mouthed diamonds. Nico went first, his face set in stone and fists clenched tight - he hated closed, tight spaces. Annabeth followed, carefully manoeuvring her dagger so that it wouldn't catch on the sides.

Before Percy went after her, he motioned for Jack to climb over the boulder as quietly as he could. If he really was intent on being useful, he could be the surprise back-up if needed.

A flicker of annoyance flashed across Jack's scarred face, but he gave a curt nod and started scaling the rock. Even as he squeezed into the little space, Percy could hear him mutter to himself about ducking lids. Or something.

Wriggling around in the hole, Percy found himself wishing he'd gone in head-first. As it was he had to navigate the dusty, suffocating wormhole with his feet alone and try not to kick Annabeth or Nico in the process. After nearly a minute of scuffling, slight panting coming from one of the others, and a close shave with a vicious ant, he finally saw daylight and crumpled to the ground in a heap, coughing out the dust of the passage from his lungs.

Hazel and the others were already on their feet, but they weren't looking at him. Rather, they were staring in concern at the scene that greeted them.

The valley had widened a significant amount to resemble a rock version of a clearing, with the high edges of the cliffs on either side giving it a somewhat basin-like appearance. You could see trees edging the top of the cliffs, standing like dark pikes against a greying sky, almost like soldiers looking in on their prisoner at the centre.

The prisoner in question certainly appeared to be living up to his title. The very sight of him screamed misery, even without the assistance of the little moans that escaped every so often from his form like flecks of ash from a fire. Pale hands were fisted and knotted in dark hair that made Leo's mop of Latin curls look tame, twisting and tearing away at the roots as though trying to rip it out, but weakly, as if their owner had neither the strength nor the willpower to actually do it.

Thalia, Jason and Piper were standing at odd ends around the shuddering wreck of the person, awkwardly glancing at each other, pity and helplessness etched deep in their features.

Leo was sitting on a rock a little way off, looking on with sympathetic interest, but being unusually quiet (for him) and looking very still without his hands fiddling with some wonderful new gadget designed to make Umbridge shriek and run away.

The figure in the middle of the clearing was sobbing, and it was clear that he hadn't just started: the sobs came out choked and rasped, his throat sounded raw and his pain no less so. He was wearing typical muggle attire, consisting of a jacket, shirt, and jeans, but even from where Percy stood he could see that the edges were frayed and the jacket was stained with tears and dust.

This wasn't a god, Percy thought sadly. This was an exiled child.

That was the image that came to mind as the demigods watched the fallen Apollo - for who else could it be? - crying and gasping and heaving choked breaths, prostrated and curled on the ground, like a child left abandoned by all he had known to the cruelties of a dangerous world. The four thousand-year-old god had been reduced to nothing but a broken teenager, unable even to look his new world in the face.

Thalia glanced back, relief spreading on her face when she saw that they had finally found them. She joined them on the ledge without a sound, looking unsettled.

"Look at him," she murmured, motioning to Apollo with her eyes, "They've turned off the sun and made him a black hole of despair."

"Is that really Apollo?" Annabeth whispered back.

Thalia's solemn face nodded.

"He was busy yelling at Zeus and shaking his fist at the sky when we found him."

"It's a good thing no-one found him first," Nico said, his eyes also fixed on Apollo's crumpled form.

"I'm not sure we did." Thalia admitted. "He's covered in scratches, some quite nasty, and there's blood on his clothes. He won't let us touch him."

As if to prove her point, just as Piper was reaching out a hand to touch Apollo's shoulder, the god looked up and scrambled to his knees, knocking her hand away in the process. His face was indeed covered in scratches, and his eyes were almost impossibly red and puffy.

"Oh woe, woe is me!" he cried up to the sky, as he did so effectively annulling any kind of sympathy the demigods had harboured up till then. The Grace siblings and Piper pulled faces that said 'oh, here we go again'.

"Alas," Apollo cried to himself in his dismay, "_what ever will become of me, and how is it all to end? If I stay here through the long watches of the night, I am so exhausted that the bitter cold and damp may make an end of me- for towards sunrise there will be a keen wind blowing from off the river. If, on the other hand, I climb the hill side, find shelter in the woods, and sleep in some thicket, I may escape the cold and have a good night's rest, but some savage beast may take advantage of me and devour me._"

Percy heard the words, but only registered that they sounded strange somehow. Rehearsed, ready-made. Scripted.

For her part, Annabeth was staring at the god in astonishment.

"He's quoting from Homer's _Odyssey_," she realised.

Hearing her voice and apparently registering it for the first time, Apollo raised his pitiful head and turned to look at her. There was a new kind of terror on his face that Percy recognised but could not place.

"Alas," Apollo breathed, as though to himself, "_what kind of people have I come amongst? Are they cruel, savage, and uncivilized, or hospitable and humane? I seem to hear the voices of young women, and they sound like those of the nymphs that haunt mountain tops, or springs of rivers and meadows of green grass._"

Ah, that explained it. Nerves.

"He sees himself as Odysseus," Annabeth murmured to Percy, who was feeling slightly lost, "exiled from Ithaca through the workings of ill fortune. He thinks the gods are somehow preventing him from going back home."

Thalia looked worried. She glanced at Annabeth.

"Can you make him calm down? He hasn't stopped quoting tragedies and doom speeches since we found him. We even had to stop him from going through the whole Ajax episode," she added, with a meaningful look.

"Meaning?" Percy asked, unable to look away from Apollo's terrified face.

"Lots of sheep and blood," Annabeth surmised rather unhelpfully. "I guess I can try..."

After the god's dramatic albeit probably unintended rejection, Piper had elected to join Jason's side. She was holding his hand and had draped his other arm over her shoulders, looking very glad to have something so familiar and steady by her side, something Apollo so very obviously lacked right then.

Hesitantly, Annabeth made her way over to the god, who had started crying again, only now the tears streamed down his face in silence, leaving salty tracks that mixed with the blood from his cuts and made his front a ghastly sight. He watched the daughter of Athena approach him, took in her grave face and distinctive eyes, and something like recognition spread across his bleeding face. His eyes filled up with tears again. When Annabeth was within a metre of him, he lurched forward and grabbed her legs, words streaming from his mouth in a babble of fear, despair and heart-wrenching misery, his eyes refusing to leave her face, begging her to understand what he was feeling.

But the demigods didn't understand a word of it.

It was, quite literally, Greek to them.

Their experienced ears could pick up on the fact that he was in fact speaking Greek, but it was so arcane and ancient a form of it that the tragic expression on the god's face and his wringing hands as he spoke them were their only clues as to the meaning of the words.

Annabeth herself was standing stock-still as Apollo clutched at her knees, eyes wide in alarm as she stared down at him. Her expression was all frowns and concentration as she tried to understand what Apollo was saying, but her mouth was open in confusion.

"He... He thinks I'm some sort of goddess..." she said, so quiet and uncertain that Percy could barely hear her over Apollo's sobbing pleas. "He wants help... I think... I think he thinks I'm my _mother_."

The demigods stared at Apollo, who had stopped talking and was instead consolidating his grip on Annabeth's jeans, supplicating her with his eyes - but for what exactly, who knew. Perhaps even he did not.

"I think he's hallucinating." Thalia said quietly. "Either that or he's traumatised and confused."

"He's not the only one," Percy muttered, wondering what to do. He had a feeling that Apollo would not go clutching _his _knees if he got any closer to him.

Next to him, Hazel whispered something. Percy turned to look and saw that she was holding both hands up to her mouth, before crouching down and bringing them to the ground. She opened her fists, and out crawled a little grey lizard. Percy was stumped for a second, but a moment later the lizard became a fluffy husky dog and trotted up to a now hiccuping Apollo.

"Oh," said Percy stupidly. So that's where Frank had gone.

Frank the husky carefully padded right up to Annabeth and nudged her calf, whining quietly. Annabeth looked down in surprise, but apparently understood quicker than Percy and immediately crouched down to let him closer to Apollo, who blinked his puffy eyes in bemusement.

Frank _woofed _softly and stepped into Apollo's one drooping arm, the other still clutched to Annabeth's leg. The former god looked stunned for a moment, but then cautiously unclasped his hands and put both arms around Frank's fluffy form, burying his head in the grey and white fur, again looking so much like an abandoned child that Percy found himself thinking very offensive things about Zeus and his idea of discipline.

Frank whined sympathetically and wagged his tail. If he had been in human form the very idea of doing what he was doing now would have made him splutter and flush crimson, but it seemed being canine worked wonders for reservation and unbound generosity. Even Annabeth appeared to forget for a second that this was a son of Mars and briefly stroked his ears, a grateful smile on her face, looking very tired all of a sudden.

Within a minute Apollo's sobs had subsided completely, leaving him quiet and prostrate on the rocky floor, covered in dust and scratches and bites. Finally, Annabeth looked back and motioned for them to come over.

As Percy and the others approached, Leo awkwardly climbing off his rock and stretching out his legs with a grimace, faint little rumbling sounds started coming from the dark-haired boy who was no longer a god.

"He's sleeping," Annabeth confirmed when they reached her. "Poor thing."

To Percy and everyone else's amazement, and with an almost maternal grace to it, Annabeth stroked back a few dirty strands of hair from the torn and bloody face of Apollo. Her face as she did so was tired, certainly, and world-weary, but also peaceful. Not at all as though she'd been raging against the gods only a couple of hours ago.

And that, more than the former god's surprisingly quick transition from divinity to peaceful oblivion, was - to Percy - the real miracle of the day.

0o0o0o0o0

By the time they reached the edge of the forest, the air was colder than ever and there was a smell of snow in the air, though they were still treated to the spectacular sight of Hogwarts' turrets gleaming in the red light of the sunset, and the Quidditch pitch lay once more as empty as a shell. A few streamers still stirred feebly in the breeze, proclaiming the winning team's victory, but the burnt quality of the light made it impossible to determine if they were red or green.

Percy's stomach was rumbling, and he knew for a fact that no platter on the dinner table that night was going to be safe from him. He had his arm around Annabeth, who had been walking alongside him the entire way back and now had her head resting on his shoulder, speaking only to ask Leo for water and to ask Jack if Apollo was okay.

Their mysterious Scottish friend had proved true to his word whatever his intentions may have been, and had dutifully carried the sleeping new mortal in his arms the entire way back, his massive arms apparently never feeling the strain. He had shaken his head, as genial as a toymaking grandfather, when Piper and Hazel, who were the best at Charms, offered to make him lighter with magic.

"Poor lad don' weigh more than a bebby unicorn," he'd said softly, chuckling. "Don' smell half as good, though, I'll give yeh that."

Once the gamekeeper's hut came into clear view - Percy noted that it had lights on inside, though he had never seen it inhabited as the gamekeeper himself was rumoured to be on a trip - Jack halted in his tracks and gently handed Apollo to the girls, wands a-ready, who soon managed to make him hover in the air like a puppet with invisible strings. Carefully, they set about manoeuvring him so that he stood vaguely upright and not lying down, in case someone saw them going back up the grounds.

Meanwhile, Percy was thanking Jack.

"I still have no idea who you are," he said. "But thanks. Seriously, man. That's twice you saved our lives, and we couldn't've carried him all the way like that."

"Yeah, thanks." Thalia echoed, sounding a bit far away. Her eyes were trained on the castle, seeking out Gryffindor tower. No doubt she was wondering what she'd find there when she entered the common room.

Jack waved a huge hand like it was nothing. It was funny, Percy thought, how he'd seemed so much of a predator when they'd first met. Well, a predator that would eat them, at least. He still had far too much grace and stealth to be entirely trustworthy in Percy's book, but the wariness he'd felt at first was fading.

"Don' mention it, lad," he said, then he winked at Thalia. "An' good job jobbed to th' lil missy what sussed out that I were followin' yeh. Tha's top-notch hunting, sweetheart."

The huntress shot him a small smile, but quickly looked back at the castle, shrugging lightly.

"Your breathing wasn't like any animal's I'd heard before..." she said vaguely, apparently already lost in thought.

Jack _humphed_.

"Weel, I'd better work on that, then," he said sarcastically, saluting her with two fingers to his head. "Toodle-pip then, me hearties."

"Jack!" Percy called after him before the not-quite-stranger anymore could disappear among the trees. "What you saw... What you heard - I mean, what happened today - you can't tell _anyone_, okay?"

_Especially what you saw Frank doing_, he added silently.

Jack looked back over his shoulder, grinned, then held out his hand in what might have been a sign that mum was the word, but then again might have been telling Percy to bugger off.

Rolling his eyes, Percy turned his attention back to the group. For some reason, he wasn't too worried.

Getting a comatose but upright Apollo up a slippery green hill was harder than it looked, as it turned out, even with a total of three people supposed to keep him steady using levitation charms. Come to think of it, multiple handlers was probably the main cause for all the stops and starts - magical co-ordination was not yet one of their strong suits - but it was the preferred option over lugging a bleeding, unconscious teenager on their backs, for fear of being mistaken for muggers.

By the time they reached the massive entrance doors, night had pretty much fallen, although fortune would have it that Filch had not yet gotten round to lock them and so getting in was not the problem they had feared. Navigating the corridors was a lot trickier, since portraits were still very much awake and curfew wasn't quite in action yet - students were still coming back from dinner. Using Hazel's amazing geological senses, which for some reason worked within Hogwarts as well, they avoided the most popular routes back to common rooms and stuck to shadowy passageways, when necessary holding loud conversations about how annoying it was for them to carry their moronic friend, who had somehow messed up a calming potion that had succeeded into sending him off to Sandman.

After that, hauling Apollo up to their common room was child's play. They dumped him on the sofa nearest to the fire, fetched a spare blanket from the girls' room, then stood looking at each other, hands on hips and teeth biting lips, wondering what to do next.

"He looks kinda pale," Percy said finally, "maybe he needs food?"

"Or ambrosia," Thalia said, frowning. "Heal all those cuts."

Annabeth looked doubtful.

"He's mortal now, I don't think ambrosia would do any good."

"Well he's no Muggle either, or he wouldn't be here."

"I'll get some regular food, it's better than nothing," Percy announced, grabbing his robes so that he didn't look like he'd been in the forest all day despite the mud on his shoes and the bits of plant stuck all over the bottoms of his jeans. "Dinner should still be going on."

Leaving the others to stare in silence at their new ward, he started walking down the corridors, wondering if looking urgent was suspicious, or if it would in fact be more suspicious to be a growing teenage boy and _not _hurry to dinner. Either way, he had to be quick, because whereas being a sixth-year entitled him to walk around the castle until nine o'clock, it did not do well these days with Umbridge's foot in the system to do something even slightly suggestive of mischief. Not that it had actually stopped anyone from doing so yet, but the presence of a fallen god in his dormitory made Percy unusually aware of the risks of attracting attention.

About two minutes later, he heard footsteps running toward him from behind. He turned to see Leo and Frank jogging over, bright red spots on their cheeks and looking a little flustered.

"What are you doing?" Percy asked, "I said I'd-"

"You're not the only one who hasn't had dinner, man. And Annabeth said to help you get some food back for all of us." Leo said, breathing a bit more heavily than running down two flights of stairs warranted.

Percy raised an eyebrow.

"And why do you look like dinner's gonna have strippers assisting? Seriously, you could cook an egg on your faces right now."

Leo mumbled something incoherent, and Frank flushed harder.

"The Grey Lady," he mumbled, "Nico summoned her to stand watch in our corridor, but he didn't tell us, so when we came out we didn't see her and, um, ran into her, er..."

"Okay, okay, I get it," Percy laughed, picking up the pace. His stomach rumbled loudly, making the occupant of a passing portrait look up and down in concern, trying to find the creature stalking it. He was almost ashamed to admit it, but he actually hadn't thought of getting dinner for himself. He wondered if there was a wizarding equivalent of takeaway restaurants, and whether ordering something from school would be possible, and what the penalty would be if they got caught.

Dinner was a loud and boisterous affair, despite the unusual moody silence along Gryffindor table. Percy failed to note the significance of this, for he was busily sneaking breadrolls into the sack Leo had handed him right before entering the Great Hall. He added a few apples, chocolate muffins, a pitcher of pumpkin juice (weird stuff, but surprisingly sweet and refreshing), and two dozen chicken drumsticks wrapped in napkins.

Alec Malone watched him shovel food under the table with the air of a cow watching the cars go by. Sooner or later in a teenager's experience life was going to be full of other teenagers sneaking off food for gods knew what.

"Midnight feast, huh?" he asked Percy.

Percy smiled tersely.

"More like an eight o'clock snack," he said. "It's for my friends."

"Do they usually get room service?"

"No, they're um... Studying. Er, Runes and Transfiguration, I think. Busy times, you know."

"Huh." Alec said, watching him snatch a few slices of cheese. "Must be eager, on a Saturday night and all."

"Have you _met _my girlfriend?"

Alec chuckled, but it was short-lived and he returned to his previous expression like a man who had heard a good joke but suddenly remembered he was due to be hanged the next day. Percy had noticed the entire table were being rather glum, especially the older students, but only just realised what the reason behind that might be.

"Game that bad, huh?"

Alec looked baffled.

"What?"

"The game. Quidditch. Bad affair, I know r-"

"We won." Alec said, in the tone of one addressing someone with fragile nerves and short-term memory loss, but who was no less annoying for it. "Squashed the snakes, like we knew we would."

"So, um, why is everyone...?"

"S'the whole Potter business, ent it?" Alec replied, with unexpected bitterness and not a whole lot of grammar, the rancour apparently making a local accent resurface.

Percy sighed. He stopped trying to squash six oranges into his sack and looked up.

"Look, I know you don't think Voldemort's back, but the guy's honest dude, why can't you just believe that-"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Alec said angrily, dabbing at where he'd spilled his drink when he jumped in shock with all the clumsiness of a nervous banker who refused to accept that recession was a real thing.

Percy blinked.

"Harry - you said he was the reason..."

"Yeah, 'cause he got hisself knocked outta the team, didn't he?" Alec said, his cheeks red with feeling and his napkin turning orange from the spilled juice.

"Oh," Percy said. "Did he cheat, or..."

"No," Alec snapped, less loudly now that the anger was being replaced by suspicion. "Didn't you hear? He won fair an' square, but Malfoy was bein' a prick about it, and of course precious Harry couldn't stand it so he went an' punched the little bugger..."

"And Angelina kicked him off?" Percy glanced at the tall ebony girl who was moodily poking at her food.

"Angie's a workaholic, not suicidal." Alec said, looking at Percy like he was a marble short of a set. "Umbridge did, the old bat."

"Toad," Percy corrected vaguely, seeking out the leprous amphibian in question along the staff table. She was currently sipping at her glass of wine while both her neighbours appeared to be very deliberately talking to the person sitting on their other side.

"An' of course Fred an' George got kicked off too," Alec continued moodily, stabbing his potatoes, "which means Angie has to find three new players before training for the next game begins, or the cup'll go to dear ole' Snape again."

"Right," Percy said, still absent. He had just spotted Frank getting up from the Hufflepuff table with a bulging sack like his own. The son of Mars spotted Percy and waved, to which Percy said "Well, I'm off."

Alec grunted a reply which Percy didn't bother trying to interpret. He went to join Frank, by which time Leo had also finished at the Ravenclaw table, looking empty-handed and carefree, although the others knew he had simply put the food in his toolbelt.

They made it back to their dormitory without incident, although they themselves weren't quite sure why they were so careful to be as quiet as possible, knowing now that Umbridge was at dinner and that they were technically weren't doing anything wrong. Maybe a whole afternoon of tracking in a dangerous forest had the same effect on their caution levels that a sea cruise had on one's legs for several days afterwards: you couldn't shake it off.

Frank shut the door behind them, cutting off the cold draught that had risen since night had fallen. Snow was falling, not that they could see it from their common room, and already the corridor windows were showing signs of being mostly obscured the following morning by the snowflakes being blown against them. Perhaps it had been a good thing Hermes had asked them to play treasure hunt today after all, or Halloween at Hogwarts may have been augmented by the extra-realistic decoration of a life-size frozen god.

Everyone was present once the three boys had returned. After the sacks of food had been deposited and emptied out on the table, they turned to stare at Apollo, whose soft breathing sounds and peaceful expression told them he was still deeply asleep. Annabeth was sitting closest to him, in an armchair by the fire, its light making her hair glow as bright and red as its embers. The others were scattered all around, either perched on the sofa, hovering near the fireplace for warmth, or sitting together in a chair. Only Nico stood slightly apart, pressed against the wall in the darkest corner of the room and a frown on his brow, the reflection of the firelight in his eyes the most visible part of him in the moment.

Finally, after a few minutes' silence during which the demigods simply watched him, not even touching the food (it just felt right somehow) the former god stirred. He groaned, turned over, found that he could not as the sofa was cruelly narrow, and sat up, dazed and disorientated. He took in the sight of the nine silent demigods in bemused silence, rubbing his sleep-filled eyes with a dirt-encrusted hand. Then he looked around.

"Where's the doggie?" he muttered, his voice hoarse with sleep rusty with too many spent tears.

They glanced at Frank, who squirmed a little. He might even have blushed, though the fire made it hard to tell.

"Um, that was me." he said, looking uncomfortable. "Sorry, er , Lord Apollo."

The former god looked disappointed.

"Oh," he said. "I'd already named you Fluffy in my head."

"That's... um... Thanks." Frank said, rather desperately.

"How are you feeling?" Annabeth asked.

Percy noted with surprise that she sounded genuinely concerned.

"Like I've been cast out of heaven," Apollo muttered, holding his head. "Oh, wait. I have." He laughed.

No-one else did.

"You're covered in scratches," Piper said after an awkward silence. "We have a little ambrosia and nectar, but now that you're mortal you might not-"

She stopped, because Apollo had gone worryingly pale again and burst into tears. They stared, awkward again, because what could they say to someone who had lost their immortality in exchange for an average teenage body, acne, and terrible naming skills?

_"Oh, but my head hurts_

_And my torso feels so soft_

_Where is my six-pack?"_ the god wailed, burying his face in his hands.

And his lyrical skills had apparently not improved either. Percy exchanged a look with Annabeth, who was frowning in incomprehension. She'd been kidnapped when they'd met Apollo for the first time, so she was understandably unfamiliar with his poetry-spouting habits when he was happy, upset, or plain bored. Haikus, as Thalia whispered into her ear quickly, were saved for special occasions. For when the god was _really _upset or bored.

"Hey, I know this is hard," Piper said gently, coming to kneel next to the sofa, "but you've got to get a grip, okay? This is practically enemy ground for you, d'you understand what's at risk?"

Apollo didn't answer, just kept his face covered and rocked his body slightly, making very faint little moaning sounds.

"Do you even know where you are?" Annabeth asked quietly.

Apollo kept his head cradled in his hands for a few more moments, then peered over his fingers.

"Percy Jackson," he answered thickly. "When Zeus... When I... When it happened," he gulped, "I was falling and I knew I was mortal, but I could still... I could concentrate on where I needed to land. Sort of." he pulled a face. "I thought Percy could help me, so I concentrated on falling where he would be. I landed in a rocky canyon, on top of an ant colony, so I got covered in bites, but then I fell and hit some rocks, so I got covered in cuts... And... And my flawless tan is _gone_!"

He burst into noisy tears again.

Percy sighed, not wanting to appear insensitive (for once) but this scene was starting to get repetitive. Judging by the way the others were shifting their feet and exchanging looks, he wasn't the only one. He crouched, moving nearer to the sobbing boy, trying to school his features into something suitably sympathetic.

"Dude," he said. Always a good start. "It's okay. You're safe, we found you in time. I'm here, and so are my friends, and we'll help as much as we can. Only," he hesitated, then made up his mind. "Only we've kind of got our own thing to deal with at the moment. You see, we're in wizard territory, and it's all hush-hush and top secret and-"

Apollo was nodding quickly, the tears having finally stopped. He even looked eager.

"I know," he said, "Oh, I know. The new prophecy that's obviously very important even though it wasn't made by me or my oracle, the wizarding world, the fate of magic." he nodded again, importantly. "That's why I chose _you _among my many dearest friends for the honour of helping me."

"Um... Why?"

Apollo smiled, surprising everyone.

"Why, don't you see? Saving the wizarding world, _our _world, and magic itself. It's the perfect way to make me a god again!" He beamed. "You can help _me_, Percy Jackson, by letting me help _you_."

* * *

**This chapter's title, **_**Acta Non Verba,**_** means 'Deed, not words'.**

**Next chapter might be up sooner than usual (not like **_**that's **_**difficult, huh? Believe me, I hate myself just as much as you do on that count) and will be in a somewhat different format, which I'm quite excited to try.**

**Thanks to 8Lottie8, who was very informative and lovely about Latin grammar, Risa Silvara and 32 for being lovely in general, the gusman, for an entirely deserved cautioning, YKW and XAHHA123 for your lovely reviews.**

**And my extra-specially lovely friend bubblegumbloo who drew me a very unique picture of Jack O'Kent, which you can find by clicking a link on my profile :-)**

**Also for everyone else who reviewed, (oh gosh, getting too many to address personally now; yippee!) favourited, and followed :-)**

**Toodle-pip, then, me hearties!**


	17. Calamus Gladio Fortior

**Chapter 17 - Calamus Gladio Fortior**

_Monday 1__st__ November_

_Dear Chiron,_

_I know we gave you a report only two nights ago, but something's come up. Hermes came to find us (Just... I know, right? Bear with me) and told us that Apollo had gone missing, then asked us to find him. Long story short, we did. Problem is, Apollo is now a spotty sixteen year-old with a saviour complex - he wants to 'help' us, namely by sticking around until the prophecy's been fulfilled._

_I haven't told the others, because they think that worrying is all I do these days, but I don't think the whole story quite adds up. Apollo, I mean. He's acting very upset and depressed because he's been exiled - the worst part of it apparently being that he no longer looks like a model - but Hermes was getting frantic because he thought Apollo was _missing_. So either Apollo is lying about Zeus exiling him, or Zeus himself is keeping information from the rest of the gods. I hate to ask, because I know you're always busy, but please could you look into it? The sooner this matter is resolved the better, I think. And Apollo will be able to sing and recite poems to his heart's content without any of us throwing books at him._

_Other than that, not much. Halloween here is quite cool. A teacher who looks like he's descended from Gaea's eldest lot, only much hairier and kinder, apparently returned from a research trip late in the night. Harry and Co. seemed to be pleased to see him, but Umbridge looked like someone had swapped her cereal milk for pegasus urine. Worst bit is, some students had similar reactions, though they lightened up a bit at the food afterwards. Did you know that the magical world has actual fairies? They even kind of look like Tinkerbell - makes me think JM Barrie might have been a half-blood or something. Some can glow blue or red as well. Mostly they just glide around, but yesterday's Halloween feast consisted mainly of candy and dessert, and it turns out they have not just a sweet tooth, but many. Sharp, too._

_Percy and Jason have started to hide from their housemates (making strategical allies of them might have to wait a little – most of them are barely through puberty and still think that their greatest problem is a zit or a bad grade. Though truth be told it's Nico and Piper who have the most difficult task, since the Slytherins are the wizarding version of _ancien régime_ nobility). There's this whole Quidditch drama whereby Harry got kicked off the team by Umbridge and the Gryffindor captain is scrambling for new players in time for the next match. I know Jason's at least a little interested, but Percy would no longer ride a broom than bring Cerberus his dinner. Harry's pretty beat up about it all, actually. He and the Weasley twins (who also got kicked off) were the best players in the school. Of course, Umbridge is pleased as pie. I think Leo is currently thinking up a new punishment for her - one which I believe includes spoons._

_Yeah, spoons. Moving on._

_You know, I think we might have to tell Harry about Apollo. It was Frank's idea: we need something to explain his presence at the school. Not that he's a god, obviously, but maybe a backstory of being an anti-Ministry fugitive. He won't be kept secret for much longer, you've no idea how many sentient things there are around here, sneaking and hovering and peering all over. It's only a matter of time before a house-elf stumbles upon him singing in the shower. We have the means of hiding him, but it requires Harry's consent and participation, neither of which he'll give unless we can convince him it's in all of our best interests. That said, at the rate the Umbridge-dominated school admin and reputation is going, soon all we'll have to do is make Umbridge sneeze in our direction and he'll agree. Apollo will have room service._

_Hope you're well, and that Camp goings-on are running smoothly. Any news from Camp Jupiter? I know Reyna must be worried. I'm not sure what Frank and Hazel told her to explain their absence, but it better be good._

_Take care,_

_Annabeth_

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

_Jason,_

_Thank you for your letter. May I compliment you on the way you've shaped your entire text so that you tell plenty, but reveal nothing? How very Greek of you._

_Speaking of, you needn't bother. Chiron told me everything. Well, I had to blackmail him for it, but there you go. _

_How stupid do you think I am? You disappear without a trace, taking my co-praetor and Hazel with you, and don't give a word of explanation. How hard is it to send a note, at least telling me that you would be away?_

_That said (and this is only after a good deal of reflection and, let's face it, anger) I am prepared to acknowledge that letting home know of your whereabouts was difficult given the extremely... closed nature of your situation. In fact, I think I've already remarked on the way you've managed not to outright lie about it. We could make a Cicero or a Catiline of you yet._

_I'm glad to know you're still interested in Camp Jupiter despite the fact that you're hardly ever there. It's doing all right, I'd say. Apart from the Senate losing faith in me - again - and starting to look back on the days of imperialism, all is well. Peachy. Not a cloud in the sky, as I'm sure your father could testify. Reconstruction is going well, the legionnaires who have left our ranks to pursue further education are satisfied at the change of scenery, and the weather is getting colder, but still fairly dry. _

_I know better than to ask what you and the others are doing, so I will try to be satisfied with the reassurance that you are all, at least, safe and well. Chiron has told me that of all your collective missions so far, this will be the longest and the most stable. I can only hope that means you will get sufficient rest and time to develop your strategies, since I trust you have not forgotten all things Roman in the meantime. Strategy is key, I'm sure you'll recall. Tactics come second._

_Despite the fact that I want to strangle you for deserting us and leaving me in the dark, I wish you well in your task. Pass my regards on to the others, and hit Frank for me. Has he forgotten how to write?_

_Reyna_

_PS: I hope you know that your mail is being read. Your rather unusual method of postal service arrived more than a little ruffled, with several of its detachable parts sticking at odd angles, and the wax seal (wax, really?) was broken. I'll tell you this, whoever reads your communications doesn't care about being caught._

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

_Tuesday 2__nd__ November_

_Hi Mom,_

_I'm sorry I haven't been more in touch. Even without the usual excuse of being pretty busy (as in, _crazy _busy), there have been complications regarding the mail system. Jason told us this afternoon that his owl had been manhandled (bird-handled?) pretty roughly, and that his letters - both incoming and outcoming - had been read. That said, once he'd finished explaining he looked thoughtful for a bit, then hit Frank and walked away without a word of explanation. So he might have been at it with the coffee again, I guess. I hear Professor Sprout is working on special mushrooms as well, so maybe spores have been floating around. Dunno._

_Anyway, I know my previous message weren't very clear on our situation. Just as well if we're being watched, really. _

_Oi, interfering person - yep, talking to you - STOP reading people's private stuff. Seriously. You might end up in all sorts of awkward situations. _

_Anyway, we're all safe and reasonably happy, although the amount of homework we get here is obscene. I promise I'm not lying and that I'm actually getting an education. Probably not the Pythagoras theorem or Trigonometry type of curriculum, but trust me when I say I'm learning plenty. _

_On the bright side, there's also no sign of me getting kicked out any time soon. Needless to point out how that says a lot about this place. 'Cause, see, the monsters here don't intrude or attack, they kind of just... hover. Or camp. Or even fly around. Ask Nico when you see him: he came back from vet class this morning looking real worked up. Something about death horses. I don't think my uncle - you know the one - ever had special horses, did he? Annabeth mentioned something about reusable chthonic creations, but she was reading a textbook on golems when she said it, so I'd better not jump to conclusions._

_You mentioned in one of your letters that you absolutely had to IM me. I don't think it's... adequate to do so at the moment for reasons that are too long to explain here. I'll call as soon as things clear up a bit. Still, why? Isn't it something you can tell me on paper? Are you okay? What about Paul? It's not bad news, is it? I'm getting worried here!_

_Whatever it is, I doubt it could eclipse what we've been through the past two days. I can't really elaborate here, but suffice to say that the fates have handed us a very poetic, sunny addition. His singing is divine. He's a bit depressed because his family kicked him out for a bit, but more on that when we see each other. You can imagine all the issues that comes with him: lodgings, food, activities, noise... Annabeth has run out of books to throw._

_Say hi to Paul for me. Love you both._

_Your son,_

_Percy_

0o0o0o0o0o0

_Tuesday 2__nd__ November, Hogwarts, RoR as Bunker Nine_

_OPERATION TECH (Day 35)_

_Observations:_

_Tests for electrical power on stair handrail. Negative. Sentient force but unknown. Magic (?) or hidden source of energy (?) mechanic (?) (unlikely). _

_**Conclusion**__: too wide a target._

_Tests for electrical power on 2__nd__ year toothbrush (third attempt). Positive, but erratic. 1__st__ attempt (with normal batteries): would not stop hopping around and giggling; 2__nd__ attempt (with own power-cell): tried to lather toothpaste on tester's face (i.e.: me); 3__rd__ attempt (with different cell): washed teeth of tester unaided by hand of said tester until gums bled. _

_**Conclusion**__: little bastard. Batteries no good, too rustic/primitive. Own power-cell too... something. Pursue next attempt with more advanced cell._

_Tests for electrical power on Annabeth's laptop. Positive. No wi-fi or signal, however. No change from when owner first attempted to use it upon premises._

_**Conclusion**__: why, gods, why?_

_Tests for electrical power in RoR as DA room. Negative. _

_**Conclusion**__: called it._

_Tests for electrical power in RoR as Bunker Nine. Negative. Second attempt made after specifically requesting a magic-free zone. Negative, but Annabeth's laptop picked up very faint telephonic signal. _

_**Conclusion**__: Exciting!_

_NB: Possible solution: isolation of technological zone? But will presence of magical beings upset it? If so, how to keep them away? Better still, find a way to make magic and electricity work in parallel..._

0o0o00o0o0

"_Aooooh - once there was young lad, and merry yes he was..._"

Nico gritted is teeth. _Wednesd-_

"_He found a girl under an apple tree, and kissed her yes he did..._"

His fingers clenched around his pen. He could feel the arteries in his neck expanding and pulsing quicker as the blood rose to his face in increasing frustration. He concentrated on the date he was writing. _Wednesday 3__rd__-_

"_But then he took her apple, and she slapped him yes she did..._"

Nico very deliberately unclenched his fingers from the plastic length of the pen, one by one, concentrating on every movement, hoping the distraction would prevent his nerves from snapping. It had worked for the past twenty times, after all. Just about.

"_She chased him all around the woods, and in trouble yes he-_"

"You know, we're learning about Silencing Charms in class at the moment," he said, making his tone as conversational as possible.

Apollo raised his head from the upside down position he was currently in, draped over the back of the couch. It only had the effect of directing his gaze towards the ceiling, the sudden realisation of which caused the former god to twist this way and that, trying to meet Nico's steely gaze.

If the son of Hades looked furious in a very controlled calm sort of way, Apollo was the very epitome of bored.

"Are you? That's nice," he said vaguely, then opened his mouth once more to continue his ballad, "... _all around the woods, and in trouble yes_-"

"I'm looking for someone to practice on, as a matter of fact," Nico continued, concentration forgotten and his pen in danger of snapping.

"Hm? Oh, I'm sure some of the others will be back soon, don't you worry. _The village called him Yellow Pete, and gaily laughed they did..._"

There was a crunching, breaking sound, and Nico looked down to see his half-written essay covered in blue ink, dripping from his hands and the shattered remains of his pen, the half-written date of _Wednesday, 3__rd__ November_ nearly smudged beyond recognition. Cursing, he pulled out his wand and jabbed it at the parchment.

"Scourgeo," he said, "No, er... _Scourgify_."

The wand started siphoning off the ink, and another spell later Nico's hands were also clean. Apollo looked on in mild interest.

"Mm, well done. Looks almost natural for you now. Of course, us gods don't need the physical tool of a wand, but it's impressive nonetheless to see young mortals perform even such menial tasks."

"Would you like to have a go?" Nico asked, his voice poisonously smooth, his temper kept in check by ample practice and the satisfaction that he had, at least, managed the spell.

Apollo heaved a huge sigh, one that spoke of nostalgia, sorrow, wisdom - even patience.

To Nico, and to anyone else if they had been present, it just sounded full of self-pity.

"Alas," Apollo said, waving a hand delicately in the air above his face, "would that I could. I have no doubt Zeus stripped me of the merest of my powers. Even in this lonely little room I can feel that no amount of ambient magic will right my woes."

"Well you've spent the entire last three days in here," Nico grumbled, "I'm usually the last to say something like this, but why not try going out a little?"

"Miss Chase argues strongly against it."

"She's scared that you'll meet teachers who won't recognise you. Half of them only teach specialised subjects anyway, and a good deal of the students don't talk to years other than their own. The odds of meeting someone who-"

"I fear that my presence here-"

"Well why come here at all, then?" Nico finally snapped, "If you're not prepared to do anything except mope around, why decide to come here when you _knew _it was dangerous?"

Apollo averted his eyes, ashamed. He paled a little, his hands fidgeting in his lap.

"No place is safe when you've lived as a god in Olympus all your life and been cast out as a half-grown man." he said quietly. "My choice was between a rock and a hard place."

"You could have gone to Chiron," Nico said matter-of-factly. "He wouldn't have turned you down." _He took me in after all_, he added silently.

"I would have been no use to him."

Nico snorted. No prizes for guessing what he would say to _that_, if this weren't an Olympian he was talking to.

Thankfully, before Nico could more closely consider the option of risking eternal hostility from the former god, Percy barged in, slamming the door open in an arc as wide as the grin that split his face.

Nico looked up in surprise.

"Just IM'd my Mom," Percy said by way of explanation, apparently not even needing a question to prompt him; the words were practically bubbling from his mouth anyway. "Guess what?"

"What?" Nico intoned, looking back at his parchment.

"No, seriously man, guess."

The smile on the son of Poseidon's face was so blinding that Nico almost found himself smiling back, despite the matter of a difficult essay and an insufferable deity in the way. Still, Percy looked so insistent that Nico decided to play the game for a bit.

"She's coming to visit?"

Percy pulled a face. "I _wish_. No, guess again."

"Er... She's published another book?"

"Nope!"

Nico put down his pen, then crossed his arms and shrugged the universal gesture of being at a loss.

"I," Percy said, taking his time as he punctuated each word with a step towards the fireplace and a fist punching the air, "Am. Going. To. Have. A. Sister!" He paused. "Or a brother," he amended.

Nico gaped.

"Percy... That's great," he said, his voice coming out much quieter than he wanted. He cleared his throat. "That's amazing."

Percy nodded, still doing a weird little happy dance around the table as Nico and Apollo watched on. The former god also looked mildly pleased.

"Indeed," he commented, "I shall have to congratulate the excellent Mrs Jackson-"

"Blofis," Percy corrected.

"-Blowfish - with an ode of my own composing. Is she more partial to ballads or haikus? Perhaps a sonnet?"

Percy hastily assured the god that while his mother was fond of the arts in general, it really wasn't necessary to go to all the bother of writing a poem for her, especially since, perhaps, he cautioned with a sudden spark of inspiration, Poseidon would not be best pleased if another Olympian were to write odes to his former flame.

Meanwhile, Nico had sat back in the cushy sofa, staring at the flames of the ever-present fire in the chimney, wondering what he actually felt at the news. He knew he should feel happy, of course, and he was: it would be great for Percy to have a younger sibling. The guy was great with kids; half of the younger ones at camp saw him as the resident goofball, while the other half stayed in awe at all he had achieved. They all liked him.

But there was another feeling squirming inside Nico's chest, as there always was when good things happened around him. He had had a sister once. What would it be like to see another gain what he had lost, would it hurt? Would it help him to heal?

He shuddered inwardly. So even he himself recognised that he wasn't over Bianca's death.

Not wanting to be a buzzkill for a Percy who was currently hopping around excitment, Nico kept his mouth shut as the son of Poseidon chattered on happily. It was that damn death horse incident earlier, Nico thought with a small amount of bitterness, leaning over to the fire and poking a few embers and bits of burning log back into the hearth. It had messed him right up again, just as he thought that things were easing back into a tolerable form of normality.

Nico had taken Care of Magical Creatures with Harry and his friends since the beginning of the year, but hadn't really found the opportunity to talk to them the way the others had in their courses. Not, for once, because of Nico's general wish to avoid people – especially strangers – but because the class was so… class-like. In Charms, you could chat your head off while simultaneously pulling water out of thin air; and Potions was a haven for experimentation and tickling curiosity provided you weren't on Snape's hit-list; but Care for Magical Creatures… Well, rumours had it that it used to be one of Hogwarts' most dangerous activities of all: riding feathered horsey dragons, fighting off indestructible fire-spewing scorpions, being forced to stuff rubber tubes with lettuce…

Okay, so the last one didn't sound particularly fearsome to Nico either, but the student telling him about it while gesticulating frantically assured him that boredom had been the killer then.

But so far Nico's experience of that class had been tame and organised - and _safe_ \- all thanks to that Grubbly woman, the name of whom Nico could never fully remember. She was good at her job too, always ensuring that the students were a safe distance away from the more excitable beasts, or ready to enact the safety/care spells should either party get harmed. They learned loads, too. The success of her unicorn module had been such that Lavender Brown had declared at dinner that she was going to adopt one of the baby unicorns since "he was so cute, and really what's the difference between a horse and a unicorn except that one drinks light and the other water? Plus they like _me_ best anyway, since I'm a young girl and all, so Professor Grubbly-Plank promised to send my dad all the papers…" To Nico's amusement, almost the exact same litany had been delivered by Pansy Parkinson at breakfast the next day, clearly copying the Gryffindor girl no matter how original she was trying to make the idea sound to Malfoy, whom she was always near to somehow. That was until Theodore Nott pointed out that Grubbly-Plank was a professional teacher, not a magical creature dealer – the practise of which, he reminded the table at large, made up a fair portion of the black market.

The literally gigantic presence and looks of the person who showed up as their new Care of Magical Creatures teacher that morning came as a surprise to many pupils. Especially since eighty percent of them groaned quietly – or not so quietly – when he waved cheerily at them as they walked down the path towards his hut. The only ones who looked happier at this event than Nico had ever seen them in this class before were Harry and Ron. Hermione had on a large smile as well, but it seemed strained. There was something like anxiety in her eyes. Nico suspected that she, like the rest of the class, knew that the standard curriculum days were over, but that she had to act happy about it because Hagrid was clearly a very nice man.

That was the second surprise for Nico: he'd expected the man to be a kind of gruff, grumpy, antisocial man who came across as – to quote a contemptuous Draco Malfoy - 'savage'. Nico hadn't actually disagreed, seeing that the man was clearly part-giant and very wild-looking – perhaps that was why the school had been forced to lodge him outside in a hut? He looked like he'd been in a primal, month-long fight: multi-coloured bruises covered the parts of his face that did not sport facial hair, his hands looked oddly-shaped as though several fingers had been broken and not perfectly re-set, and he walked around so stiffly and carefully that Nico suspected a couple of his ribs had been fractured by something.

After one long look at him, Malfoy had said flatly to Nico "Just you wait. Whatever made him look like that, I bet we'll have to care for it the rest of the year."

But Professor Hagrid's eyes, small and beady and black, yet warmer than any other dark eyes Nico had ever seen, crinkled with pleasure at the sight of students approaching his hut. He smiled, patted Harry and Co. on the back gently, sending them sprawling to the ground. He turned to the rest of the group; a more unenthusiastic bunch Nico had never seen.

"Righ'! Good to see yeh lookin' all so up an' ready fer today's lesson." Gesturing towards the forest, he beamed at them all, brightening even more as he caught sight of the grins on Harry and Ron's faces. "I got a real treat fer you this mornin'. Yeh'll love 'em."

"Oh, wonderful," came Malfoy's sardonic voice. "I wonder if they have stingers, this year. Or perhaps foot-long claws, like the last time we went into the forest with you."

Murmurs weaved in and out of the group, students exchanging uncertain grimaces and meaningful looks. Nico was far from reassured when he realised that none of them, including himself, felt inclined to disagree. Only Harry turned his back on the group completely and took a step towards their new teacher, speaking loudly over the dubious whisperings.

"Sounds great, Hagrid. Which way do we go?"

Hagrid beamed at him once more, then realised Harry had asked him a question.

"Oh - er, just a mo'…" he leaned over backwards, winced at the pain, then shuffled behind a large barrel, retrieving a massive sack stained in places with a darkish substance that seeped through the fabric. He stripped the bag of its contents, which turned out to be half a dead ox, and hefted it on his shoulder. "Here we go, gotta have enough ta keep 'em satisfied..."

With that rather ominous sentence which even Harry could not help but receive with a raised eyebrow, he started to lead the way into the forest, revealing a pronounced limp and a strength that Nico's practiced eye recognized as almost effortless.

Despite the man's uncouth appearance, Nico felt himself cautiously warming to him. His admiration was already strong, for having known a lot of physical pain himself he could tell that Hagrid suffered a lot from his wounds, but was not letting them get in the way of getting on with life. That took a lot more effort and determination that most people would believe – the kind you could only fathom once you'd gone through it yourself.

The walk into the forest was short, but tense. Unlike most of the other students present, Nico had been thoroughly vaccinated of the woods' sombre atmosphere and constant sense of danger, so the surroundings did not bother him. However, the low mutterings and anxious whispers that floated in the air the entire way were far from reassuring. Nico listened to a few of them, then shook his head in wonder. The things these kids said!...

Then again, as Hagrid reached a small clearing and deposited his load on a mass of tree roots near the ground, wincing as he did so, Nico re-evaluated the situation. For all that Hagrid seemed perfectly good-natured at a second glance – Percy would have cracked a joke about a big friendly giant – he decided that the gamekeeper's reputation for getting attached to things that were too big for even him to handle was probably well deserved, and stayed at that. Should regard there be, regard would follow. And certainly not before any carnivorous or fire-spitting monsters appeared.

"Righ'!" Hagrid called out, turning back to face the group of less-than-certain fifth-years. "I'll just take a mo' to let you all in on what we'll be studyin' today, just enough time fer them to smell the meat and find us here."

The man had a gift, Nico noted with amused bafflement as the kids around him shuffled in alarm and growing anticipation, for saying exactly the wrong thing at the wrong time.

"The meat? Did he say the meat?"

"Does that mean us or the cow?"

"I think something just moved behind the trees…"

"Now," Hagrid said, slightly louder to drown out the conversations, "we're only in the forest today 'cause it's a natural form of sheltered habitat. They prefer the dark anyway-"

_What prefers the dark?_ Nico found himself thinking. Had he missed something?

"-I reckon I'm the only one who's managed to train a whole herd in Britain. Quite rare, they are."

"You're sure they're trained?" came Malfoy's sharp voice, tinged with panic. "Only it wouldn't be the first time you've brought something wild to class."

"'Course they're trained," the gamekeeper replied, scowling as he dragged the meat from the tree roots into the middle of the clearing.

"Then what happed to his face?" whispered a Slytherin girl whose name Nico didn't know.

He shrugged, and Hagrid turned to face them once more.

"Now, if some of us have finished asking stupid questions," he growled, while Harry and Ron glanced at him with great big grins on their faces – they'd been more than vocal about their hostility towards Malfoy since the whole Quidditch fiasco – "I'll go ahead an' give 'em a call. They'll smell the meat anyway, but it's best if they know it's me."

With that, he tilted his head back and cupped his hands around his mouth, puffing out his massive chest before uttering a shrieking cry unlike anything Nico had heard before. He was vaguely reminded of the Keres's cries in Tartarus, but neither were much like the other except in pitch.

Hagrid called again, and still nothing showed up. The group of students gradually pressed closer together as they peered nervously around the trees, having stopped whispering to each other after a silent but unanimous agreement that, perhaps if they kept very quiet, the creatures would not turn up at all despite Hagrid's call.

Just as Hagrid prepared to shriek a third time, Nico saw Harry nudge Ron and point at a certain spot in the trees. He glanced in the same direction, and nearly jumped in surprise.

Out in the darkness, staring at them like two miniature crystal balls, were a pair of pale eyes. A second later a long, thin face emerged from the gloom, followed by a skeletal winged body on long, graceful legs that seemed mere skin and bone. Nico watched with baited breath as the emaciated horse-like figure padded out into the clearing on silent hooves, the soft ground annulling any possibility for sound. It surveyed the class for a few moments, watching Hagrid as he called a fourth time, then hitched its leathery wings a little higher and turned towards the cow that lay so invitingly on the open ground. The creature silently approached the meat and began to tear shreds of it off with long fangs that looked very out of place on an equine figure.

"Why doesn't Hagrid call again?" Nico heard Ron whisper.

Harry, who had been staring at the horse, equally transfixed, glanced at Ron in confusion.

"Can't you see? It's right there." He pointed.

The very obvious shape of the creature stared placidly back at Harry, its mouth chewing at the raw meat like a Pegasus would munch grass. Its sleek, glossy black coat, the only and peculiar sign of health about the creature, dappled in the faint light of the forest and the shadows of overhead leaves.

Ron looked at Harry as though he were hallucinating.

"There's nothing there, Harry."

"_But it's right_-" Harry insisted, then stopped, stumped. His eyes followed the graceful movements of the horse as it tore off another mouthful, uncertainty and pained confusion on his face.

Ron goggled at him and shook his head.

Just then, another two creatures emerged from the trees, silent as the first one. They headed straight for the meat, only sparing Hagrid a passing glance and a toss of their skeletal, dragonish heads.

Nico stared on in cautious fascination. Creatures that only some people could see? Somehow even monsters didn't quite cut the mark that way, and Nico was ready to bet that that whatever allowed certain people to see them was not due to ancestry.

"An' here come a couple more!" Hagrid said happily, taking his hands back down to his sides.

"A couple more _what_?" Malfoy asked irritably, shuffling from foot to foot and casting dark glances all around.

Hagrid ignored him.

"Now, put yer hands up – who can see 'em?"

An expression of acute relief on his face, Harry raised his hand. As did Nico, Neville Longbottom and a Slytherin boy by the name of Cadmus Stebbins.

Hagrid nodded.

"Knew yeh'd be able to, Harry… An' Neville, too? An'…" He tilted his head at Nico, apparently noticing him for the first time. "Who have we here?"

"Nico di Angelo," he said, stiffly. "Sir."

Hagrid smiled and waved a hand.

"Jus' Hagrid'll do," he said. "American, eh? Professor Dumbledore told me all about yeh and yer friends."

Nico nodded politely, though it was hardly forced. Hagrid, it truly seemed, was easy to like.

"Anyway," Hagrid resumed, turning back to the group at large, "the reason only some of yeh can see them-"

There was a soft scream as Lavender Brown caught sight of the much diminished carcass. Her pale hand went up to her open mouth in shock, eyes wide as they took in the sight of bits of mat being torn of and vanishing into thin air.

"-yes, love, they're called Thestrals an' they like meat," Hagrid sighed, the first tinge of weariness in his voice, "But as I was _sayin'_, the reason only some people can see them is that - actually, you tell me. Anyone know?"

Her face shining with the glow of epiphany, Hermione shot her hand up. She was immediately imitated by Malfoy, causing peals of laughter from his cronies, but Hagrid had eyes only for the Gryffindor girl.

"The only people who can see Thestrals," she said clearly, "are the ones who have seen death."

Hearing her words, a ripple of murmurs and looks of mild revulsion washed over the group.

Somewhere deep inside Nico, something sank. Deeply.

"Tha's correct!" Hagrid beamed. "Five points to Gryffindor. Now, the thing with Thestrals is-"

"But they're really, _really_ unlucky," one of the annoying twittery twins interrupted, drawing her arms around herself and edging even closer into the mass of human bodies. "Professor Trelawney says they bring curses and all sorts of bad luck on the people who see them!"

"Nah, tha's just superstition," Hagrid said, shrugging as though such beliefs were beyond his comprehension. "It's 'cause of the death thing, that's all. They unnerve people, sure, but they're pretty gentle really."

"Yes," Malfoy said, "I want to take one home with me it's so fluffy."

"Now these ones," Hagrid talked over Malfoy, "are only a fraction of a whole herd of 'em. They don' get much work around here, mostly they just run free, 'cept when the Hogwarts coaches need pulling. They've got excellent sense of direction, see, go anywhere you ask 'em-"

"Hem, hem."

Nico recognised that hated sound, and closed his eyes in dull horror. First the death horses and now this?

"Oh, hello!" Hagrid greeted the new arrival warmly.

A pink ball of tweed with pursed lips stared back, hands fussily folded in front and carrying an equally pink clipboard.

"You received my note this morning, saying that I was to inspect your lesson later on, I assume?" she asked, loudly and clearly, apparently under the impression that Hagrid was deaf.

"Oh, yeah, no problem!" Hagrid said, waving a hand. "Yer welcome to stay as long as yeh like, just thought we'd best get a move on while we could. You found us all right, then?"

But Umbridge had already turned her attention away from him and was making notes on her clipboard, her bulging eyes darting here and there as though to assess the precise purpose of every part of their surroundings and their benefit to the lesson.

"Righ'" Hagrid said again, slightly crestfallen. "Well, as I was sayin', Thestrals are wonderful creatures, they are. Very clever, almost intuitive like."

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" Umbridge said from the back of the group in the same loud, slow voice.

Hagrid looked taken aback.

"Er… Thestrals, as you can see – or, I dunno, can you? Big, winged horses, you know?" He flapped his arms hopefully.

Umbridge raised an eyebrow, then jotted more notes down on her clipboard, muttering about supposedly professional teachers resorting to primitive sign language.

Hagrid's bruised face flushed a deep maroon, rather like a very badly stained window in a Tim Burton movie. Nico felt sympathy for the man twist in his chest. And all that because Hagrid wasn't in Umbridge's carefully categorised view of an ideal world and society.

It struck him that perhaps he and Hagrid shared more common ground than he did with most people. His mood had severely dampened at the revelation of what linked Thestrals and those who could see them – would death not leave him even the slightest chance at fitting in even in a magical world? – but Nico resolved to turn this lesson back into Hagrid's favour if he could. It was no secret in the school that Professor Trelawney's class inspections had gone poorly, for Umbridge appeared determined to undermine and humiliate her as much as possible. Whereas as High Inquisitor she wanted Trelawney out because she was a fraud or because she had little respect for Divination, no-one really knew, but Hermione had grimly told them last DA lesson that she would be surprised if Trelawney were still here by Easter.

Carefully edging out of the group, Nico quietly approached the Thestrals, pausing a couple of times, unsure which attitude to adopt. It was Percy who was usually good with horses. Then again, these were almost literally death's horses, and they were so very skeletal…

Meanwhile, Hagrid was floundering to regain control.

"Yeah, so – what was I sayin'…"

"…_appears… to have… problems of short-term… memory loss…_" Umbridge muttered through clenched teeth.

"Yeah, so – Tenebrus here is the leader of the herd, an' my favourite. Trained him meself, I did," the gamekeeper said, trying to look collected but unable to stop himself from glancing uneasily at Umbridge. "Firs' one born in here, though we imported a couple o' others once he was grown enough to breed -"

"Are you aware that the Ministry has classified Thestrals as highly dangerous creatures?" Umbridge interrupted again, her unpleasant and sweetly clear voice calling out from across the group. Her fingers made very obvious slashing signs at her throat and then jabbed at herself and the clipboard.

Malfoy and his cronies snickered, watching in glee as the lesson got reduced to tatters.

_Just wait_… Nico thought as he got close enough to touch the Thestrals, at all times keeping behind a tree so that Umbridge, if not Hagrid, would not see him.

This close to them, Nico could tell the subtle difference between each individual creature. While they were all impossibly thin, Tenebrus' ribs stuck out in particular, his glossy coat marred by several hairless scars across his flank. The one next to him was smaller in stature, clumsier in its movements – a younger one, then. Perhaps a filly.

The one gnawing at the bones of the carcass, opposite Tenebrus and what Nico assumed was his daughter, was another Thestral, taller in stature even than the former. His coat was less glossy, shot through in places with coarse silver hairs, especially around its eyes and the base of its tail. Its eyes, though pale like his friends', gleamed less supernaturally in the gloom, though they were whiter in colour. Cataract, Nico guessed.

That one would be the best for his plan. Foals were too jumpy and full of life for what he had in mind, and stallions like Tenebrus were too strong and spirited. What Nico needed was an older, calmer specimen, more prone to suggestions…

"Aw, come on! They're not dangerous – all right, if yeh really provoke them they might take a bite outta yeh, but yeh'd probably have deserved it then."

Umbridge raised incredulous eyebrows, then scribbled furiously on her clipboard, no longer keeping her voice down.

"…_appears _pleased_ at the prospect of violence_…"

"No, wait! I didn' mean it like that," Hagrid amended hastily, the panic clear in his voice now. "I just meant-"

"Do you find," came Umbridge's ringing voice as she leaned towards a student, "that Professor Hagrid is intimidating at all?"

The student shrugged. Hermione looked ready to punch him, or maybe Umbridge herself – either way, her fists were clenched up in balls and there were tears of rage in her eyes.

"It's all right dears," Umbridge said as she turned to the group in general, in what she clearly thought was a motherly tone, "you can admit you're afraid. You won't be penalised." She trilled her little laugh.

Nico hated her. With every fibre of his being, he hated her. But he was focusing on what he was doing, and so he had to block out her words, that stupid clipboard, and her annoying voice. He'd never really done this before.

Concentrating, he gently touched the old Thestral's neck with the flat of his hand, careful not to startle the animal. As it was, it barely glanced at him, and merely continued sucking on the marrow that poked out at the end of the largest bone. Trying not to feel nauseated at the sight, Nico turned his attention back to the animal and hesitantly nudged him, with his mind.

At first, he thought he had done it wrong, because the Thestral raised its head but continued chewing as though nothing had happened. Then, just as Nico was mentally preparing himself to try again, the old Thestral turned its head slightly and his white, almost sightless eye met his.

Nico felt a shock go up his spine, almost like electricity, and recognised it. It was the feeling of power. And boy, was he ready to use it! Having respected Will Solace's insistent request that he not do anything for several weeks out of respect for his friend, Nico could feel the thrill of all that raw, fresh power available to him, right at his fingertips.

He forcibly stamped down the feeling, reminding himself that animals could scare easily and could sense a person's feelings by smell. Instead, he stroked the Thestral's neck with as much calm and gentleness as he could muster, shifting slightly so that his body was hidden from sight from the rest of the class by another of the creatures. It felt strange to have an animal tolerate him this way. Usually he only had to look at them and they would tense up or run away.

Apparently content with Nico stroking him, the Thestral returned to his favourite bone. Nico took the opportunity to nudge him again, harder this time.

And then, he felt it. In a split-second, he could feel the animal's mind as though it were part of his own: a wild, open space full of smells and blurry shapes and subtle sounds of the forest.

Nico blinked, and it was gone.

Shocked, but encouraged by the old Thestral's lack of reaction beyond a small snort, Nico tried again.

This time he knew what to look for, and it was easier. Nico matched up his consciousness with the creature's, being very careful not to think anything too urgent, or too human.

After that, it was almost child's play. He directed the Thestral's balmy eyes towards the large blob of pink that was slowly moving in the group of indistinct shapes just beyond his master. Pink, the Thestral felt – and so did Nico as a consequence – was a rather unfamiliar colour, quite rare in the forest. Kind of pointless, too.

_Are you sure?_ Nico's consciousness suggested to the Thestral's oblivious observations. _What about those pretty flowers near the lake? Same colour, and they smell nice too. Wonder what they taste like?..._

"What about you, Longbottom?" Umbridge was saying loudly, "Who did you see die?"

Her tone could not have been more disinterested, and Neville looked unhappy as he glanced first at Hagrid, then at the Thestrals.

"My… my granddad."

"And what do you think of them?" she asked, waving a stubby hand towards them.

"Thestrals? They're… They're okay, actually." came Neville's cautious answer.

"_Students… too… afraid… to admit… they are… frightened…_" Umbridge muttered, scribbling on her notes.

"No!" Neville said, upset. He looked back at the small group of indifferent Thestrals. "No, I'm not afraid. My grandmother used to take me riding sometimes, I'm not afraid of horses. And Thestrals are just horses with wings, aren't they? I mean Hagrid says they're gentle, and only react if you provoke them, like all animals d- _Professor_!"

Neville's eyes went wide. Umbridge's head was still bent over her clipboard.

"Oh, it's quite all right, dear," she said vaguely, "just don't you worry about a th-"

"No! Professor! There's one behind you!"

Umbridge twisted around like a spinning top, coming face to face with a very large, rheumy-eyed Thestral that had been sniffing her fluffy pink beret. She gave a blood-curdling shriek, sending them both reeling back in shock. She landed in her rump, winded, but the old Thestral gave a thin scream, like a whinny but infinitely more primal. Its eyes rolled whiter than ever, and it stumbled back into the trees, nearly falling over roots and low branches.

Alarmed at Umbridge's reaction and the one it had caused among the students, who were now shrieking as well, spreading in confusion as each tried to get away from the scene, the remaining Thestrals around the carcass started rearing in panic, their pales eyes darting all over for an escape route.

Hagrid tried to re-establish order.

"Now, don't panic!" he was shouting, "They won' hurt yeh if yeh keep still an' calm. Just' don' panic!"

But of course they did panic. Before Hagrid could finish calming the creatures by whispering to them in a strange, clucking language, several Slytherins and one Gryffindor fled down the path they had come, leaving the rest to press behind trees or clump together in small frightened groups, peering around each other to watch as Umbridge recovered from her shock. Hagrid tried to help her up, but she lost it completely and started beating him about the head with her fluffy pink clipboard, shrieking at him to let her down. It would have been a fairly comic scene, Nico thought as he leant against a tree of his own, what with a five-foot ball of pink fur hitting a bearded giant with her tiny hands and piercing voice, had she not been swearing at the top of her voice that the Ministry would see to it that Hagrid would be suspended for the rest of the year.

He chose that moment to step in, and also to embrace his full heritage as a Slytherin.

Having succeeded in putting that raving Fury down, Hagrid backed off from her and tended to Tenebrus and the filly, who were still present but tense as arrow strings and snorting in alarm. Their eyes were wider than ever, and rolled back when Hagrid approached them. The gamekeeper whispered to them in the same language that had calmed the old Thestral, and it relaxed them somewhat, but they continued to skitter nervously as Umbridge angrily carried on shouting at Hagrid.

"… a _disgrace_ to this school and property! When Cornelius hears of this-"

"Professor! Are you all right?" Nico called out in false concern, jogging over to the dishevelled woman.

"What?" she snapped, "Yes, I'm fine, no thanks to that enormous buffoon of a-"

"Wasn't it lucky Professor Hagrid knew what to do?" Nico interrupted, gently pulling her up by her arm – she had fallen askew on a mass of roots, "He's amazing. I've never seen anyone calm a panicked animal like that."

"What are you taking about?" she snapped again, pushing his arm away and straightening her dirty beret.

"Oh yes, Professor, didn't you see?" came Hermione's voice, cottoning on as she emerged from behind a tree with Harry and Ron. "He knew exactly how to deal with the situation."

"Well I should _hope_ he knew how to-"

"It was amazing," said Dean Thomas, winking at Harry. "Truly awesome."

"I read in one of my textbooks that Thestrals were notoriously difficult to approach and train," Lavender Brown joined in, her cheeks pale but starting to glow from the net they were drawing around Umbridge. "Didn't Hagrid do well to do it? I mean if we'd come across one by surprise like you did-"

"- we would have been dead meat." Parvati Patil finished eagerly. "So really Hagrid was doing us all a favour by training the Thestrals and letting us study them."

"Quiet, silly girl," Umbridge sniffed, "you have no idea the danger we were in."

"But what danger? You were right, Professor." Nico said smoothly, "We were frightened. But we didn't need to be: the Thestrals stayed right where they were and didn't attack anyone, and Hagrid managed to calm them down in seconds."

"No-one was hurt," Hermione observed, her eyes sparkling. "An emergency situation truly well mastered, I would think."

Umbridge glared at Hagrid. Or rather, at his back, since his face was pressed against Tenebrus' flank. His massive shoulders seemed to be shaking somewhat, either from tears or laughter. When he did turn around, his features had been arranged to look impassive. His eyes were slightly red – tears, then - but the sparkle was back. He shot a single grateful glance at the group of remaining students, then addressed Umbridge.

"Now, Ma'am," he said gruffly, "I think we'd better get all these kids safely back to school. I think I should also accompany yeh to the hospital wing, get yeh checked up fer bruises and whatnot."

"I'm fine," she snapped, but Hagrid shook his head in grave concern, his eyes still sparkling.

"Oh, no no no," he said. "School policy. When a disruption occurs in class, anyone a bit beaten up has to get checked up the mediwitch."

Glaring, but without a word, Umbridge spun on her heel and started limping back to the castle, unaware of the amused glances exchanged between the students or the high fives that Nico collected from Ron, Harry and Dean.

Later, when the lesson was over and the students were making their way up the castle – those who had fled the clearing had been waiting on Hagrid's steps, red and somewhat shamefaced – Hagrid pulled his rescuers aside.

"Listen, I jus' wanted ter say…" he stumbled over his words then cleared his throat. "Thank yeh, all of yeh. My job was maybe on the line an' I dunno how it would have gone withou' yer help."

"We didn't do anything, Professor," Nico said, smiling slightly. "Just pointed out the truth."

"Not even Umbridge can disguise the fact that you're a genius with animals, Hagrid," Hermione said sincerely.

Hagrid blushed again, and patted their shoulders gently. When they had picked themselves off the ground, he awarded them all ten points for bravery and excellent disposition.

As they walked back to the castle, Harry and his friends profusely thanked Nico for his intervention. Nico suspected they had no idea of the method or extent of his actions – though the curious looks Hermione gave him the entire way made him pause – but he shrugged the compliments off, even if a smile lit his face for the rest of the walk. As the group separated just past the Great Entrance, Lavender smiled at Nico and said "see you next DA" (they pronounced it 'day' in public, to avoid too many questions), Parvati winked, and Dean clapped him on back, affectionately calling him 'Snakey'.

Nico had never felt warmer.

But of course, being him, it didn't last for long.

This time though, the reason was called Dracon Malfoy. The blond Slytherin was leaning against the corridor wall when Nico spotted him, having left the group a couple of minutes ago. The boy's eyes narrowed, and his folded arms tightened. He had been waiting for him, then.

"Interesting class that, wasn't it?" he asked, fiddling with something in his pocket.

"Mm," Nico said, quite lightly, "Got even better after you ran away."

Malfoy's gaze narrowed further at the slight, but otherwise ignored it.

"Who did you see die, then?" he asked, looking up at Nico from under hooded eyes.

Nico shrugged.

"Not sure it's any of your business."

"You're right, of course." Malfoy replied, nodding almost respectfully, though his eyes were still too interested for it to be real. "I just thought, maybe it would help to explain why you didn't seem surprised when the mudblood told us what made them invisible to most people." He watched Nico carefully. "Seeing as you were just as clueless as the rest of us."

Had he not been surprised? Nico couldn't remember. Maybe being the embodiment of all things dead did that to one's knowledge of related subjects.

"Taken to watching me in your spare time, Malfoy?" Nico deflected, his tone still light. "I heard obsessions like those were dangerous."

"I like watching people," Malfoy said, the hint of a smile about his thin mouth as he played with whatever he still had in his fingers. "You can learn all sorts of interesting things."

Nico snorted.

"Well aren't you a regular Sherlock Holmes."

Malfoy looked politely bored.

"Another one of your muggle references, I assume. No, di Angelo. I like watching people because whether they like it or not they reveal things. About themselves, about their families, about their friends… And," he said, with a smile that was too pointed to be coincidental, "about their activities."

He tossed Nico the thing he had been fidgeting with. Nico caught a glint of bright metal in the gloomy light of the corridor, but fumbled the catch and the item clattered to the floor.

Laughing, Malfoy unfolded himself from the wall and sauntered down the corridor, while Nico got to his knees and frantically searched for the object, running his hands of the cold, dusty flagstones. At last, when a small beam of light from a flickering torch illuminated it for a split-second, he saw the object, and recognised it.

It was a DA coin.

0o0o0o0o0o0

There was a muggle thing, Harry vaguely remembered, a kind of urban legend, about a law called Murphy.

If anything can go wrong, it will.

Now, as he watched the Room of Requirement with his fists on the table, head slumped between his shoulders, he wondered if there wasn't more than a grain of truth to that.

It was past midnight, nearly one. Fred and George Weasley were having a yawning competition; Lavender Brown had turned up with rolled up socks in her hair; Angelina was glaring at him because less sleep meant less energy for Quidditch practice the next day; Terry Boot, Michael Corner and Marius Fell were still in full uniform, having only just left the library; and the Americans were huddled up in their own group, looking tired and grumpy. There was a boy among them Harry did not recognise, but forgot about almost the moment he spotted him. The boy was far from remarkable, and the DA had new recruits almost every meeting, plus there were a few older students in the school Harry could still not recognise on sight.

The rest of the DA were spread out on the floor of the room, which once again had provided perfectly for their needs, if not strictly their priorities: thicker cushions than usual lay strewn across the floorboards, coupled with blankets and small mattresses, and students were lying down on them, snoozing against a friend's shoulder or snuggling up with a blanket in the corner. There wasn't a single lively eye in sight, for everyone had been summoned on the spur of the moment, some from the showers, but most from bed.

Harry couldn't help but feel irritated. He had a thumping headache, a mountain of uncompleted homework, and was about ten hours of sleep behind so far this week. Even for him, by Wednesday evening this was a record.

At least they had an actual reason for being here, though it really wasn't what Harry would call a cheerer-upper.

He'd been slaving away near the fire in the Gryffindor common room, writing his unending essays in a desperate attempt to stop the flood of 'P's and 'D's that kept coming his way. All right, so when Percy had barged in his head had been lolling off the table, his glasses hanging by one ear, but Percy had entered by slamming the door so hard that the portrait of McGonagall above the fireplace startled awake, immediately copied by Harry himself.

Right behind Percy was Nico di Angelo, looking as pale as ever but also a lot more worried, Harry's sleep-fuzzy mind registered.

"Hey," he slurred, "you can't come in here, you're in Slyth-"

"Call a meeting," Percy interrupted.

Harry hitched his glasses back up his nose and over the correct facial parts, before squinting at the frenzied boy in front of him.

"Huh?" he said, "What are you talking about? It's nearly midnight."

"Call a meeting," Percy said again, holding up a DA coin so that it glinted in the dim firelight. He looked anxious, like Nico, whom he glanced at.

The other boy in question was biting his lip.

"No," he said, "don't contact anyone just yet. Call Hermione, tell her to come down here."

"But-" Percy began.

"No." Nico said firmly. "We need Hermione first. They might know how we communicate, we need her to rule out any risk of trying."

Harry was completely lost, though a niggling part of his mind recognised the tension of emergency.

"What's going on?" he demanded, more sharply.

Nico looked at him, still biting his lip. He seemed so different from this afternoon, when they'd left him after CoMC. He'd had pink in his cheeks then, and a smile on his face. Tonight, it looked like it bore news of a new world war.

"Malfoy cornered me this afternoon," Nico answered through gritted teeth. "He had one of those on him," he pointed at the DA coin in Percy's hand, "and made it clear he knows we're up to something."

"So we need to call a meeting," Percy growled, "to find out who was careless enough to leave theirs lying around."

Harry took the coin between his fingers, examining the edge, hoping against hope that there was some mistake, that he would recognise the usual Gobbledegook markings there. But there were only numbers, representing the date of their last meeting. His heart sank a little.

"Are you sure Malfoy knows what they are?"

Nico shrugged.

"Doesn't matter. He knows they're significant."

"Why did he give it back to you if he managed to get his hands on a piece of incriminating evidence?" Harry wondered aloud.

"Does it matter?" Percy said, his eyes alight with anger. "I want to know who-"

"Percy, it does matter," Nico said in a tired voice, "but we need Hermione right now."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Because she made them. Maybe Malfoy gave it back to me because he managed to make a copy for himself, to monitor it for changes. We need to know what happens then, or if it's even possible."

Harry gulped at that horrible new possibility.

"Okay. There's just, um…" he hesitated. "There's just one problem. I can't actually go into the girls' dormitory."

"Can't you just text- oh, wait. Not technology here." Percy snorted in annoyance. "I really hope Leo figures that stuff out soon."

Harry looked around the room, rubbing his eyes. Despite the horrible news having woken him up effectively they were still bleary and slightly unfocused. The beginnings of a headache were starting to make themselves known, throbbing at his temples and just behind his scar. Which was why when something darted out of sight under a chair, he thought his eyes were tricking him. However, a second later two yellow eyes peered up at him from under the canvassed seat.

"Wait…" Harry said slowly, getting up from his chair and approaching it as slowly as possible.

In his third year, the cat had proven exceptionally clever. Hermione had always suspected the vendor had been right: there was something about him that was beyond feline, whether he was part Kneazle or had simply absorbed some of the sentience of magic.

"Crookshanks," Harry crooned, aware that Harry and Nico were exchanging bizarre looks, "come here, er… puss. Come here."

Delicately, a pink nose emerged from the shadows of the chair and sniffed out Harry's outstretched fingers. His bottle-shaped ginger tail swishing behind him, the cat decided that Harry was a familiar enough figure, and permitted him to scratch his ears, purring loudly.

"Crookshanks," Harry said, addressing the cat and trying very hard not to feel silly, it was midnight after all, "we need to see Hermione. Can you go and get her? Please?"

The cat, lying down on his back and having his side stroked by Harry, continued purring for a few seconds, then when Harry moved his hand away looked at him reproachfully. He sat up, licked his paw for a moment, and ignored the three boys completely.

Then, just as Harry felt his heart sink deeper than ever and Nico made a sound of impatience, Crookshanks turned on his heel and sprinted to the entrance that led to the girls' dormitory, pausing only to turn and look at Harry as if to say "You owe me for this", then disappeared up the stairs.

Two minutes later, Hermione emerged from the staircase in a pale blue dressing gown, holding a loudly purring Crookshanks in her arms and rubbing her eyes with her free hand. There were shadows under her eyes, Harry felt bad for waking her.

"What is it?" she yawned.

"We have a bit of an emergency," Harry said.

Percy and Nico summed up the day's events for her as succinctly as possible. A difficult feat, as it happened, since Percy was still fuming and Nico was having trouble telling the story and keeping an eye on him at the same time.

"These coins," Nico said, holding out the one in his hand to her, "how did you make them? Could someone, say, duplicate them?"

Hermione took the coin in her fingers, her tired eyes suddenly alert and narrowed.

"Yes," she answered, causing Harry's heart to sink and the others to exchange a grimace. She looked up, and there was a small smile on her face. "But not for long."

"What d'you mean?" Harry said quickly.

"Like you said, I made them," she replied, her satisfied smile still in place. She nudged a cushion off a chair with her foot and settled into it, Crookshanks purring on her lap. "They have my magical signature. Copies created by anyone other than me would only last for an hour or so, possibly two."

"So Malfoy doesn't have one?"

"No," Hermione confirmed, "if he even did make one – which I doubt, considering his last mark in Transfiguration – it would have disappeared by now. For the same reason, we know that he gave us back the original, since I'm holding it in my hand."

Harry heaved a sigh of relief, but Nico was still staring at the coin in Hermione's hand, brow furrowed in thought.

"So… why did Malfoy give it back at all?" Percy's wondered aloud.

"Could someone have given it to him?" Harry suggested, hoping he was wrong, "Maybe we've been sold out?"

Hermione shook her head.

"I told you about this when Umbridge passed that stupid Decree. There's a jinx on that list of names, the culprit would stand out immediately."

"Where is the list?" Percy asked.

"Somewhere I check several times daily out of habit," Hermione said calmly. "Since I gather you guys haven't asked Piper to give Malfoy her coin, I can assure you we have not been betrayed – at least, not intentionally."

"So we're back to duplicates." Percy sighed, sinking into one of the armchairs.

Nico looked at him grimly.

"What if he's made continuous copies of the duplicate?"

He glanced at Hermione, whose smile had slid off her face like a pancake on a greasy kitchen wall.

"If he keeps creating one from each new duplicate before they wear off…" Nico continued, speaking fast.

Hermione blanched.

"We're in trouble," she completed.

Which was why, at nearly one in the morning, Harry was presiding over a room of sleepy teenagers, for whom the word 'emergency' usually defined someone breaking an ankle or nearly being sick on someone, not an event caused by the risks of underground activity. Only Fred and George perhaps knew the feeling of the latter, except they were currently leaning against each other on a huge beanbag, eyes closed and mouths wide open, throats a-rippling.

"Okay," Harry called out, in the loud, clear voice that now came to him quite naturally whenever he pulled on the skin of a teacher again, "I know this was a completely unexpected meeting – believe me, I was dragged out of the arms of Morpheus myself to be here-" rippled laughter, followed by several amused looks exchanged between Percy and his gang, "but the reason that you were awoken or ripped from the comforts of books or a warm shower a few minutes ago by these guys," he pointed at Percy and his friends, who had volunteered to penetrate each common room and wake the necessary people, since the use of the coins was, obviously, out of the question for the moment, "is because one of you managed to lose your hold on this."

He held up the DA coin in his hand, attracting the eye of every single person in the room. Good.

He scanned the faces of as many people as could, almost hoping to see an expression of guilt, shame - anything - that would help solve the issue, but the ones he watched reflected only bafflement, confusion or pure disinterest.

"I won't ask the owner to stand up and claim their coin," Harry said, his voice ringing across the room, "mainly because I know that losing it was not deliberate on their part-"

"-and the coin may have been pickpocketed from them in any case," Hermione interjected.

Harry paused and glanced at her. She gave him a look, which told him not to challenge her on this point.

He cleared his throat. In fact, he was glad she'd thought of that. It took away the accusing tone to his speech.

"Yeah, so, as I said, this isn't about humiliating the owner, it's about warning you of the risks attached to this group, and the dangers that go much further than detention or being expelled." He surveyed them carefully. "These coins are practically counterfeit currency, even if we're only using them to communicate. We're talking about Ministry inquiries here, maybe even Azkaban. It falls to each of you," he pointed at a few different grave faces, "to make sure that doesn't happen."

There was a moment of silence, then Hannah Abbott hesitantly put her hand up. She'd opened up a lot these past few weeks, but Harry knew it cost her a lot to speak out in front of people.

"Yes, Hannah?" he said kindly.

"Well, I just… I don't understand," she mumbled, going red, "why does losing a coin mean waking everyone up in the middle of the night? I mean," she blushed even more, "you've found the coin. And we haven't been found out."

"Why didn't you use it to tell us to come here, either?" asked Zacharias Smith, looking very ruffled without his usual ruler-worthy parting and neatly combed hair.

Harry smiled grimly.

"Ah," he said, "now let Hermione here explain…"

Flushing, and shooting him burning looks the whole time, Hermione told them about Malfoy, their duplicating dilemma, and the possibility that he had a coin.

When she'd finished, Terry Boot stuck up his hand.

"Pardon me for perhaps pointing out the obvious," he said, pushing his glasses up a bit, "but I believe there are a couple of flaws in your theory."

"Firstly," Michael Corner joined in - he was never much out of synch with his friend, "you're assuming that Malfoy has made a duplicate. Moderately improbable, I'd say."

"Well, not really, since Hermione managed to-" Harry started to say.

"Secondly," Terry took up, more loudly, "surely continuous duplication every hour or so is a very demanding task? The esteemed Mr Malfoy would be forced to set alarms throughout the night, damaging his exquisite skin tone and flawless hair."

"And thirdly," Corner completed, "according to NEWT principles we haven't learned yet-"

There was a ripple of gentle laughter across the room. It was general knowledge that half of Ravenclaw House achieved NEWT level in various subjects often two years before they happened.

"-the copy of a copy, while still identical to the original, lasts for less time than its predecessor, and the effect increases exponentially with every copy made."

Harry looked at Hermione in surprise. The reasoning seemed perfectly sound to him - had she not known all this?

Hermione was standing up, her arms crossed. Her mouth was set in a way Harry recognised in that she knew she was pushing it, but was determined to see things through her way.

"That still leaves him about two days to monitor our use of the coins," she said.

"Which we're not even sure he has a copy of," Terry patiently pointed out.

"We're not sure You-Know-Who's going to use giants in his campaign either, doesn't mean nothing's being done about it." Ron snapped.

Harry and Hermione stared at him in shock, and the familiar maroon started creeping up Ron's ears as he realised his mistake, but to Harry's left came the sound of someone clearing their throat.

"An excellent point," Annabeth said, poised as ever. "Personally I think caution is the preferable way. Whilst we cannot be certain of Malfoy's possession of a coin, equally we cannot be sure of the system's invulnerability. For two or three days, we must abstain from organising meetings and otherwise using the coins. That's all."

"Then why wake everyone up to tell us that?" Michael shot back. "You're the ones who organise the bloody things anyway," he pointed at Harry and his friends, "we wouldn't have used them of our own accord."

"Which brings us to the second objective of this meeting," Harry said coolly, "one I would have brought up earlier had you let me finish."

Michael adopted a suitably abashed expression, and Ron looked triumphant. By the look of his ears, now purple, he hadn't liked Michael's tone any more than he had Terry's logical perspective. Satisfied, Harry motioned for Hermione to take the lead once more.

"In order to safeguard the use of our coins, some changes are in order. I propose a temporary alteration in the design of the coins," Hermione held up the Galleon that had caused all the drama. "As I explained to Harry, only I can change them. Since Malfoy's copies will have self-destroyed in a maximum of three days, this alteration will have to wait that long, as his copies will mimic the coin in my hand until they disappear. However, I wanted to warn you that by Saturday evening, if the coins have turned, say, silver, there should be no cause for worry."

"Why change them, though?" Ginny asked.

"Again, a matter of precaution," Hermione said calmly, "should Malfoy decide to sell us after all, golden coins will be the object of inquiries, whereas we will be, in fact, using anything but."

"What makes you think he won't sell us out before then?" Zacharias Smith called out.

"If he'd already done so, I think we would know about it. Besides, it's possible Malfoy doesn't know we're using the coins for communication and is biding his time, letting us show him what we use them for. As far he knows, maybe we're making fake money."

"And if he made a copy of it himself, he committed the same offence and can't risk the exposure by attracting attention to it." Terry Boot completed, nodding in understanding.

There were nods of agreement all around the room, but there were also a few yawns and pointed glances at watches. Perhaps they did not realise, Harry came to think, the risks involved in all this.

_And why should they?_ Said a small voice in his head. _They're students. Teenagers. And even you knew no better when you agreed to this._

Then what had changed, Harry wondered. Was it being a teacher that made him suddenly aware of everything at stake? Had he unconsciously grown in the past few weeks while leaving behind most of his classmates?

Looking around the room, he again caught sight of Percy and his ever present group of friends. The guy had calmed down somewhat since their confrontation in the common room. His reaction had startled Harry, at first. For a laid-back guy, Percy could be pretty fierce when he was worried or angry.

Percy was watching the room of students, eyes narrowed and brow creased in thought, as though he were trying to spot a crook in a crowd. It struck Harry how grown he looked then. Not like a student at all, but more like someone experienced in stealth and emergency situations. His friends, he observed, were behaving in a similar way. Their eyes were dark and watchful, their faces expressionless as they scanned the room over and over – watching, always watching. What were they looking for?

At last, when someone asked a question concerning the next lesson plan, Harry was pulled out of his contemplations. For a few more minutes he did his best to reassure his class that they were doing their best to keep them organised and united, but he could not help the little voice in his head that said r_eally? Are you sure you're doing _everything_ you can?_

He ignored it, and concentrated on the last few moments of the meeting. Assisted by Ron and Hermione, he consulted his father's map dutifully as a queue formed near the door, letting them leave in pairs or groups of threes. Filch was still doing his rounds at this hour, and a few teachers were out and about, but fortunately there was very little risk of running into any of them thanks to the wonderfully complicated layout of the castle and the locations of the four common rooms. As an extra safeguard, Hermione had taught them all a few weeks ago a muffling charm to put on their shoes, meant to get them past even the lightest of sleepers in the castle's portraits.

Towards the end of the dwindling line, Ernie McMillan came to see him, red-faced, muttering about being late for class that morning and Quidditch robes left in the bathroom. Understanding immediately, Harry slipped him the coin and clapped him on the shoulder in farewell.

Somehow, when he closed the door on Angelina and Katie's backs, Harry wasn't entirely surprised to see the Americans still there, looking at him gravely.

"Let me guess," he said, "you're about to tell me about some other doom I'm not aware of?"

They exchanged glances, the likes of which made Harry's heart sink again – it was practically drowning this evening – because why, oh, why had he gone ahead and jinxed things again?

"Well, not exactly," Percy said slowly, but Annabeth cut across him.

She stepped out from the sanctuary of her huddle of friends, dragging someone behind her.

It was the boy Harry had noticed earlier without recognising him. If he was honest, he could still see why: there was truly nothing note-worthy about him, except perhaps that he had three pimples on one cheek that looked like Orion's belt.

"New recruit, hm?" Harry said tiredly as he rubbed his forehead. Why did they have to waste his time on this? It wasn't as if it was the first time they'd taken in a newbie. "Welcome to the club, mate."

"He's… not technically joining the DA," Annabeth corrected, apparently choosing her words very carefully. She looked up at the boy who, come to think of it, looked as lost as a sheep among dolphins. He was glancing around as if to say, why is it wet and where's the grass? Er… baa?

"This is Phoebus Delian," she informed them. "He's a Squib."

* * *

**A/N:**** This chapter's title, **_**Calamus Gadio Fortior**_**, means 'the pen is mightier than the sword'. It only fits with the first part of the chapter, but I still thought it was a good choice.**

**As usual, thanks to everyone who reviewed. You make my day every time, you know :-)**

**Also, good news! I've decided to get a grip on myself and my life, and have now adopted a thousand-word-a-day policy, whereby I force myself to write that much before midnight every day. Compared with the usual two months of nothing followed by entire days of hammering at my keyboard, I consider this an improvement already. With any luck, I'll stick to it for a while at least - though hopefully for life - which means more chapters more often for you guys.**

**To the guest who pointed out that Thalia is just as afraid of heights as Hazel is, can I point out straight back at you that (from my experience) vertigo isn't the same when you're climbing down a small cliff than when you're staring into a void? And I know Leo isn't afraid of heights, but he might not necessarily like climbing. Sorry, I don't have a beta and I didn't mean to create a fallacy :-)**

**Nobody: Nope. Sorry. No idea what those are.**

**Throughthelookingglass27: Good. He's meant to.**

**DanLM: I trust your issues with the characterisation have been resolved? Thanks for the comment ;-)**

**I also wanted to tell you, following all of your encouragement and praise, that I have now started working on writing of my own, a novel in fact. First time ever! Still in the early drafting process, but perhaps some of you would do me the honour of reading it and providing feedback one day?**

**As usual, please point out any typos to me.**


	18. Carpe Noctem

**Chapter 18 – Carpe Noctem**

For what seemed like an age, Harry could only stare at them in disbelief.

"A Squib?" he repeated, flatly, once he'd recovered.

They nodded. The boy in question, Phoebus, glanced at Annabeth first before nodding along with them.

Out of reflex, Harry removed his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes, finishing the movement by running his hand through his hair, a gesture he'd acquired recently whenever stress started frying his neurons.

"May I ask what the hell you were thinking bringing a clandestine Squib into Hogwarts?" he asked, not bothered by the fact that he sounded as cold as a frozen Snape on skis.

Percy cleared his throat and opened his mouth, but Annabeth spoke for him.

"Actually, he came to us."

"But you brought him into the castle?" Harry asked.

Annabeth hesitated, but nodded.

"Then you brought him here. Only someone with inside help can penetrate this place." Harry said. He knew all about that.

"We just need somewhere to let him stay," Annabeth continued, her chin slightly thrust out in subconscious reaction to Harry's less-than-pleased behaviour.

"I suggest anywhere that isn't here," Harry said coolly. "Unless Filch needs an assistant."

Hermione looked uncomfortable.

"Harry, you're being the wizardly equivalent of racist." She mumbled.

"Racist? Hermione, he's a Squib. This is a school for wizards! Again, what the _hell_ were you thinking bringing him here?" he asked, directing his final question at Percy.

The guy looked as uneasy as Hermione.

"Harry, dude, he needs help…"

Harry snorted.

"Don't we all."

"No, really, he does. If the wrong people find him, there's no telling what might happen-"

"So he's a fugitive as well?" Hermine asked sharply.

Percy hesitated.

"Not exactly…"

"He's an exile." Annabeth said.

Harry gave her a look, then threw his hands up in the air, snorting.

"Of course he is."

Once, just _once_, couldn't Percy and his merry band of doom-harbingers bring him good news?

"He's been cast out by his family, and people are out there to get him." Annabeth continued angrily.

"What people?" asked Ron, who'd been silent until now.

"People none of us want to meet."

"Death Eaters?" Ron guessed.

"In a way. Given the chance, I'm sure they would be." Annabeth said with an expression that left little doubt in Harry's mind that she was telling the truth.

Harry sighed.

"Look, what do you want us to do? Give him food and lodging? Fine. But he'll be caught in a matter of days. You know how Hogwarts works, by now."

"And Dumbledore knows everything that goes on here." Hermione added gravely.

Annabeth gave her a shrewd look.

"And you believe that? _Really_?"

"The guy doesn't even have CCTV," Leo pointed out in a reasonable tone.

Ron opened his mouth, presumably to ask for clarification, but Hermione cut across him.

"He's the most powerful wizard in the world!"

"And that gives him omniscience, does it?" Annabeth shot back.

Hermione bristled, but Percy's girlfriend turned back to Harry.

"He can stay in here, in the Room of Requirement. You said yourself nobody else knows about it."

"Except Dumbledore," Hermione snipped.

Annabeth ignored her. She was still watching Harry, who in turn was watching the exchange, biting his lip. After a few moments of tense silence, he spoke slowly.

"Why come to _me_ for help? Isn't there _anywhere_ else he can go?"

"No," Annabeth said firmly.

Harry sighed again. He glanced at Percy, who, hands in his pockets, was letting his girl do all the talking.

"What's your view on this?"

Percy looked surprised at the question, then shrugged.

"I've learned to trust Annabeth's judgment on these things. She's never been wrong before."

Harry looked down at his hands. Without realising it, he'd pulled his wand out of his pocket and had been fiddling with the smooth wood. This was the wand that had duelled with Voldemort just a few months ago, and come out unscathed. Sirius had been the first to recognise the effect Harry had described afterwards, in the surreal, warm safety of Dumbledore's office. _Priori Incantatem_. His godfather had been as much of an exile as ever, that night. And a couple of hours later, Dumbledore had asked the Order to accept him within their ranks.

An exile no longer. A rebel.

After another long silence, during which Ron fidgeted and Hermione watched him anxiously, Harry pulled out of his reverie and looked up at the other ten serious faces watching him.

"All right. He can stay."

There was a visible sigh of relief from some of the Americans, though curiously Phoebus looked as lost as before. But Annabeth was watching him still, her eyes narrow.

"There's a condition, isn't there?"

Harry nodded, firmly. He thrust out his chin and crossed his arms.

"The DA is a secret and underground organisation. He may be a Squib, but magic still recognises him, or he wouldn't be here at all. He'll sign the list, and he'll complete any training we ask him to."

Percy nodded, then nudged Phoebus in the ribs, who winced.

"Er, yes, all right," he stuttered, his voice higher than Harry had expected, "Sounds fair."

Harry met his eyes, and already there was a voice in his head, wondering if he had made the right decision.

"Furthermore," he continued, "Since he's the only one in the school who won't be missed if he leaves, he will complete any reconnaissance missions we need doing." Harry jerked his head towards Ron. "Ron's father works at the Ministry. There's a lot going on in there I'd like to know more about."

Ron glanced sharply at his best friend.

"Harry, what are you saying?"

"Arthur told us over the summer that employees suspected of dissent were being watched," Harry continued calmly, "maybe there's a way of making Phoebus here a likely candidate for an apprenticeship under Mr Weasley. An employee the Ministry's elite could rely on to pass along information on your dad's activities."

"Like a double agent?" Ron looked worried. "Mate, that's seriously shady stuff you're talking about there, the kind the Ord-" he cleared his throat and blushed, then finished in a rush. "And I don't think they'd hire a Squib, either."

"Actually they might," Hermione said, her voice cautious, though she kept glancing at Harry as though uncertain of what he was doing. "He looks seventeen at least, and the Ministry have to fill a certain quota of Squib employees every year."

Harry nodded, and looked a pale, lip-trembling Phoebus in the eye.

"It's settled, then. If you're going to stay here and put us all at risk, you're going to make yourself useful. That's the deal - take it or leave it."

Percy and Annabeth, the apparent leaders of the group that evening, were watching Phoebus as he heard Harry's ultimatum. The boy looked so terrified that for a moment Harry felt guilty for the huge demands he was making, and almost relented. But remembering the guy's status as an exile, he hardened again, and ignored Ron and Hermione's frowning, worried glances. If he was going to lead the DA, he was going to do it to the best of his ability. That meant hard decisions and high expectations of his crew.

Phoebus glanced at his friends, adam's apple bobbing, eyes wide and a sweaty sheen on his spotty forehead, apparently panicked beyond reckoning. He really did look like a sheep, Harry thought with pity. The kind that simply did not seem able to leave lambhood behind and become a fully-fledged ram.

Finally, seeing the steely glances and raised eyebrows of his companions – it was almost like they were testing him - Phoebus gulped, then took a deep breath.

"All right," he said, "I accept."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Truly, Piper thought for the tenth time that morning, there was nothing more tedious than sitting through hour-long lectures of history by someone who, by all accounts, _was_ history.

Professor Binns droned on and on… and on. It was a wonder he was still here, really. Piper had heard from Nico that the poor ghost had been quite shocked to have the Lord of the Dead's son amongst his pupils. One would think such an event would help shake him up a little. Unfortunately, like the rest of them these days, Nico was very careful not to draw much attention to himself, and had given absolutely no sign that Binns was to stand to attention any time soon. Shame.

Piper was letting her eyes wander over the backs of her classmates' heads, the way she usually did when she could. There was an empty space by her seat, like there was whenever she didn't have her friends in the same class, either because the Slytherin girls didn't consider her worth their time – she was still a stranger, despite having joined their house two months ago – or because she glared hopeful teenage boys away. The last bit was mostly for Jason's benefit, she admitted to herself, since he always laughed when she told him about it, but there was something uneasy about letting people sit next to you, maybe try to make friends with you – or more - when you were essentially a spy. In her case, a double-spy.

What would these people think, or do, Piper mused, playing with one of her braids to make the feathers change colour, if they knew that I was reporting back to Umbridge every couple of days?

Probably applaud her, said a cynical part of her mind. After all, these were people who respected strategy and shady behaviour, and were the students who were the least likely to be affected by the current atmosphere. Most of their parents held important positions, either socially or at the Ministry.

Piper sighed, flicking the braid back over her shoulder. Who knew school could be so political?

Professor Binns hiccupped slightly, causing several dozing heads to perk back up into semi-awakeness, but all he did was change paragraphs on his long sheaf of lecture notes, sending everyone back to sleep again.

Utterly bored, Piper started watching others again. She was one of the few left with her eyes open. A boy at the back of the class was making shapes out of dust specks floating through a beam of light from the window, another was doodling on his sleeping friend's forehead, and a girl with light hair kept glancing around the class, as though hoping someone would finally jump up and take charge of the rest of the lesson.

Looking closer, Piper realised it was Robyn Carey, the girl she'd tried to talk to in the Slytherin common room all those weeks ago. Her friend, Calliope, had since then pointedly prevented any sort of future encounters by turning Robyn the other way or dragging her by the arm into the next room every time Piper was in proximity. But now Calliope was proving just as prone to the soporific effect of Binns' voice as everyone else, her head lolling over her shoulder, propped up by a fist that loosely held a quill. Robyn, however, did not appear sleepy in the least. A spark of vague interest flickered in Piper's mind. What was she looking for?

A few seconds later, Robyn turned her head, and made direct eye-contact with Piper.

Tilting her head in curiosity, Piper watched as the girl's eyes widened slightly. _What do you want?_ She wanted to mouth at her.

Then, without any warning at all, Robyn doubled over and let out a cry of pain, arms clutched around her stomach.

The effect was like that of a foghorn. Once more, students jerked awake, looking for the source of the noise. Professor Binns looked up from his notes, stunned.

Piper's eyes had never left Robyn. The girl was now kneeling on the floor, clutching her middle. Strangely, her gaze was still fixed on Piper. Calliope rose from her seat, flustered like a mother hen around her chicks, and rushed to Robyn's side.

"Where does it hurt? Are you all right?"

She tried to lift Robyn off the ground, but the girl gave another pained cry, causing her friend to stop immediately.

There was something about her gaze, Piper noticed, frowning slightly. It was too direct. And the eyes weren't all that creased, the cheeks were still pink…

And still Robyn held her gaze, watching and watching.

Calliope, oblivious to her friend's strange behaviour, was pleading with Professor Binns. The ghost looked at her with balmy, unfocused eyes, like even his ghost form couldn't anchor him to the real world.

"Sir, Robyn's ill, she needs to go to the hospital wing…"

"Ill?" the ghost echoed, his transparent gaze sliding over to Robyn, who was still lying prostrate on the ground, very obviously unwell. "My goodness… Ill. Yes, I suppose she does look somewhat indisposed… Go with her, er, Miss…?"

"Hawthorne," Calliope supplied, bending down to help Robin up. "Yes, sir. Come on, Robyn, we need to get you some help…"

"I'll go with them," Piper volunteered, having finally understood Robyn's strange behaviour. She got up from the seat and brushed her books into her bag in one smooth motion.

"What?" came Calliope's sharp voice. "Why? We don't need you."

"Good luck carrying her all the way to the hospital wing when she can't even get off the ground," Piper said calmly, swinging the strap of her bag over her shoulder.

"But-"

"Enough." Professor Binns said in a final tone, his voice as dry as windblown leaves. "Go with Horsestone, Miss Clean, so we may resume our lesson." He tapped his sheaf of papers on his desk pointedly.

"Yes, sir." Piper said, nodding meekly.

She went to join a scowling Calliope and the prostrate Robyn. Together, they managed to heave Robyn off the ground, then half-shuffle, half-carry her out of the classroom. The walk to the hospital wing was short, but felt tediously long to Piper due to the weight of a faintly groaning Robyn and the sullen silence of her friend the entire way.

When they reached the hospital, there was no sign of Madam Pomfrey. They carefully steered Robyn onto one of the immaculately-made beds, then stood apart, with more than a little awkwardness in the air. Calliope was still stubbornly silent, and looked at anywhere but Piper's face.

Not really fazed by this, Piper went to Robyn's other side, straightening a pillow for her.

"How do you feel?" she asked, trying to sound kind enough that Calliope wouldn't bite her head off.

It didn't work. Before Robyn could answer, Calliope answered angrily, tossing her dark hair.

"She's obviously unwell, she needs Madam Pomfrey!"

"Where is she, then?"

"I don't know," Calliope admitted, looking away. "She's usually here." She glanced around, and Piper recognised the look of someone trying not to appear helpless. "What do we do?"

Piper couldn't resist.

"You're British aren't you? Make tea!"

"I… need.. pain potion," Robyn grunted out, licking her dry lips. "Please go find her."

"How bad is the pain?" Piper asked, "Maybe we can give you something while we wait-"

"Didn't you hear? She needs a potion," Calliope snapped. "You need to find the nurse; not sally about with medicine you don't understand."

"Me? I wouldn't know where to start."

Calliope snorted.

"Well _I_ can't go with you; Robyn needs someone to be here while she waits."

"How do you suppose I find a nurse I've never met in a huge castle I hardly know any better?" Piper asked, trying to keep her temper in check. Gods, why were people this stupid sometimes?

"Try a locator spell!" Calliope snapped, grabbing Robyn's hand as though she wanted to protect her from Piper's inadequacy.

Piper clenched her teeth. It wasn't so much the fact that she couldn't cast a locator spell – Hermione might have mentioned it in a DA meeting a while ago, something about the risks of Death Eaters casting one on people they needed to keep an eye on – it was the tone Calliope kept using when speaking to her. Like she had personally done her best to offend her. What was her problem?

"I can't, they're not legal until we turn seventeen." She fibbed, hoping the girl wouldn't catch on it.

Calliope was about to retort, but Robyn grabbed her arm. The dark-haired girl looked down at her friend, all hostility wiped off her face in a split-second.

"Please," Robyn rasped, "go find her. I'll wait, and Piper can stay in case anything gets worse."

"But-"

"Please," Robyn asked again, her eyes pleading.

Calliope's face turned blank. Then she turned away and walked out of the hospital wing. The two girls watched her go.

When the sound of her footsteps had faded away, Robyn sat up. Piper settled down on the bed opposite hers.

"You know," she said, her tone friendly and conversational, "if you wanted to speak to me alone all you had to do was come to our common room. I imagine you made sure Madam Pomfrey would be away this period?"

Roby tucked her legs underneath her and grinned, a little sheepish.

"She does her rounds twice a week at this hour. I used to help her out in here during the holidays, so I can still remember her schedule."

Piper nodded, impressed. Then, before she could stop it, a small smile stretched the side of her mouth.

"What?" Robyn asked, a little frown on her forehead.

Piper's shoulders shook a little, then the laugh burst out of her.

"It's just… the setting! The drama! The preparation that went into it!" she shook her head in wonderment. "Slytherin through and through. Again, all you had to do was come to see me while she was in the shower or something."

Robyn shrugged.

"It's less obvious this way. And you don't know Cal like I do. She's a bloody menace when she has her sights set on something."

"So she doesn't want us talking? Why not?" Piper asked, genuinely curious.

Robyn shrugged again, but it was smaller, and she curled forwards a little.

"How to put this… I don't think she likes strangers very much." She surmised. Seeing Piper's raised eyebrow, she quickly amended. "Not in the sense that you're foreign. No, it's more like – well, you may have noticed that Slytherin house can be a pretty shady place…"

Piper snorted.

"Yes, well, Calliope isn't into the whole _my-dad-is-way-more-important-than-yours_ or _our-families-must-be-allies-at-all-times_ thing that the others have got going on - she calls it 'boys compensating' – but… she's not exactly easy to get close to either. She doesn't trust easily."

Piper nodded. "I get that."

_More than you know_, she added silently.

Robyn nodded back, a little awkward again.

"We've been friends since we were tiny. She… I think she just wants to protect me."

"From the claws and evil intentions of strangers?"

"From people who want to find my levers and pull them," Robyn said without missing a beat, meeting Piper's eyes directly.

Seeing Piper's expression, she smiled, a little dryly.

"My dad's head of an important campaign in the Ministry," she explained. "Maybe you don't realise, but the pressure that puts on our family is…. immense. None of us can do anything without his express permission, especially if there's any chance it might reflect on his work or persona."

"Famous parent, huh?"

_Oh, honey, you have no idea._

Robyn gestured the affirmative, then hunched her shoulders more, rocking backwards and forwards, trying to appear light-hearted when her words were anything but.

"Daddy's campaign means everything to him. If certain people were to find out certain things about his family – about me – then said people could use that to their advantage, and to great damage."

Piper cocked her head.

"And that means no new friends?"

Robyn smiled shyly.

"Calliope seems to think so. But I think what set her off was… you know, that thing you talked to us about in the common room the other day."

Piper nodded. She remembered.

Robyn blushed.

"It's only a crush. I know it is. And I'm a Slytherin, so it's not like it could ever…" she trailed off, saw Piper's sympathetic expression – the girl _had_ just tricked about twenty people just to have a private conversation - then cleared her throat. "But Cal's worried that boys might only ever get interested in me because of what my father's doing. She doesn't want that to hurt me."

"To the extent that you end up alone but for her? That doesn't seem right." Piper said softly.

Robyn nodded, then blushed again.

"So, what that whole thing was really about is," she mumbled, looking at her knees, "can you help? You know, with the whole," she waved her hand in complicated move above her shoulder, "crush thing?"

Piper relaxed, and gave the girl her best smile.

"Of course I will." She gave a small laugh, then paused before continuing. "I won't pretend to be as immediate or effective as a love potion, but I can promise to be entirely more ethical."

Robyn inclined her head towards her.

"That," she said, "is more or less the exact reason I chose to ask you."

0o0o0o0o0o0

_The winter sun sparkled on the white buildings of New Rome, setting off its magnificent arches and columns like a painting on the night of its revelation. The legion's purple tents flapped gently in the morning breeze, no doubt freezing the hairs off their occupants' legs, but looking very scenic as Percy took in the sight from somewhere that was neither above nor high, but some place where only dreams took you – sort of everywhere at once, except you could only focus on a single detail._

_That detail was Reyna. As the image zoomed in – kudos to the dream cameraman, Percy's subconscious vaguely observed – the praetor marched out of her rooms, a deep frown on her face, the lines of which were etched with worry and dotted with shadows under her eyes._

_Despite the early hour of the morning, Reyna was in full uniform, her golden cuirass glinting faintly as she passed through the dappled courtyard and the shadows of the Senate's columns, and her purple cloak floating behind her as though Bellona's blessing had given it permanent life. She climbed the stairs of the Senate three at a time, and Percy followed as closely as a shadow, though with half the power to prevent it should he wish to._

_Inside the Senate, only three other people were present. Two Lares, and a man who looked in his sixties. None looked particularly happy to be there, but Percy suspected the cold was for nought. Their business had brought them here early in the morning for a single reason, and when their eyes narrowed as Reyna approached them with her chin held high, that reason was apparent._

"_Gentlemen," Reyna said coolly, letting her eyes slide over the senators as she marched past them, "to what do I owe the honour of your request for my presence on this otherwise serene morning?"_

_One of the ghosts' chest inflated significantly with pompous indignation, while the other's disdainfully cold expression became blank but for a lingering trace of hauteur. Percy recognised the latter from his first senate meeting: Cato, the stubborn Lares who'd tried particularly hard to keep two _probatio_ kids from going on their quest. Before the first ghost could let all out in a stream of reproach like a punctured balloon, the only living man of the room spoke instead._

"_The hour grows late, Praetor Ramírez-Arellano," he said, his bushy eyebrows clustered tight in the middle of his brow._

_Reyna held his gaze, her expression cold. Nobody who ever said her full name in front of her stayed in her good books for long._

"_Does it? And here I thought it was only past dawn."_

_The senator's frown deepened._

"_It has been two months since Praetor Zhang's disappearance, with hardly a word of explanation-"_

"_Frank Zhang has answered the call of duty," Reyna interrupted, her fists on the table of the podium, "our new alliance with the Greeks comes with many new responsibilities, which Praetor Zhang has taken upon himself to endorse."_

"_Without senatorial approval? This is highly irregular." The man replied archly._

"_Senator Vitellino, I'm sure you will understand that duty comes in all shapes and sizes, and occasionally in the dead of night as well. I am regularly updated on Praetor Zhang's whereabouts and activities, the details of which I am not at liberty to share." Reyna fixed him with a carefully blank eye, her voice no less passive. "Now, I ask again, in what exactly may I assist you?"_

"_The absence of your co-praetor-" Vitellino started to argue, but was cut off by one of the Lares._

"_Never mind about Frank Zhang!" he burst out, his considerable belly still heaving with blustering indignation. "The issue we wished to discuss with Praetor Ramírez is precisely Praetor Ramírez herself!"_

_He had been a powerful man, clearly fond of wine and good food. His toga, the back of which looped over his head like a hood, marking him out as a _Pontifex Maximus_, sported large silver stains that suggested he had been brutally murdered, but his cheeks were still ruddy, and his jowls quivered with emotion as he struggled to reign in his temper._

_Reyna was fixing him with the same cold stare._

"_And why have my recent actions attracted the wrath of the illustrious Scaevola?"_

_The consul flushed opaque, and started gesturing with his hands at Reyna's calm, poised figure._

"_Why? Where to start? You disappear for over a day without providing adequate explanation, leaving New Rome leaderless at a time when she is still weak; you refuse to tell the Senate about anything concerning your lack of action regarding Frank Zhang and Hazel Levesque's desertions; you do nothing to arrange for a new praetor; you sit idle as reconstruction continues, content to watch as the legion decrepits to a shadow of its former glory; you-" _

"_Consul," Reyna interrupted – she was very good at that, Percy noticed, she even managed to still sound polite even when she was giving you a look to turn you into a popsickle – "correct me if I am mistaken, but your concerns _do_ seem to revolve around the sudden and prolonged absence of my colleague."_

"_Why… yes!"_

"_Then may I enquire as to how I failed to make myself clear? I have informed you on the situation as fully as I could: Praetor Zhang and Hazel Levesque are away on a military mission. As Senator Vitellino will remember from his own days in the legion," she inclined her head towards the glowering old senator, "military affairs and their specifics are only ever shared with the Senate in extreme emergencies. Forgive me, gentlemen, but I fail to see the urgent nature of this meeting."_

_The fat Lares, Scaevola, spluttered in outrage, but Cato glided out in front of him._

"_You are right, of course," he said, his voice suddenly a lot smoother and amiable. Percy watched as Reyna also registered the change, narrowing her eyes slightly. Honey was a sweet substance, but poisonous sap could smell just as sweet._

"_As military leader, you occupy a position that is equal to that of the Senate, and all military decisions ultimately lie with you." Cato continued, inclining his silver head of hair respectfully. "Yet as former consul, and as present advisor, it seems prudent to me to share what little detail you know with the Senate. Times are still uncertain, and as my esteemed colleague has noted, New Rome is still weak – and getting weaker by the day as new recruits and full legionnaires defect in favour of higher education."_

"_Your point?" Reyna demanded, nostrils flaring, her only visible sign of impatience._

"_My point," Cato answered, calm as before, "is that one person cannot endorse the full responsibility of the entire legion alone."_

_Reyna let out a sharp breath through her nose._

"_Consul, if this is about my being of the female persuasion again-"_

"_Dieus-Pater! Heavens, no." Cato assured her, his voice smooth as a mirror, "you have proved your worth as a woman of Rome time and again, Praetor. But… perhaps it is time to accept that… no matter how capable, one must accept to share power?"_

_Reyna' mouth dropped open slightly at the implication of Cato's words. She was silent for a few seconds, but then straightened to her full height. Her eyes could have shot daggers and killed Cato all over again._

"_For all our sakes, I hope I understand you correctly, Consul." She said, hands behind her back and rigid as a statue. "You believe that I profit from – nay, _arranged – _the absence of my co-praetors all because I would keep all the power for myself?"_

_Cato made a delicate move with his shoulder. "You would have to admit that the situation tends to… repeat itself under your praetorship." he said, extremely courteous in tone if not words._

"_Situations called for by war, I will remind you!" Reyna called sharply. "Not by any doings of mine!"_

_Cato inclined his head._

"_Be that as it may, there is the matter of how the whole thing _looks_." He said, spreading his hands in a gesture of sympathetic and false regret. "For nearly two years now, the legion has been answering almost solely to you."_

_Reyna narrowed her scathing eyes at him._

"_How odd. I recall Octavian nearly leading them to destruction entirely without my help just two months ago." She said, her voice acid._

_The other two men looked at Cato uneasily. Perhaps they could sense that he was reaching dangerous ground here._

"_May I also remind you, orator Cato, that as part of the Senate you hold as much power to this day, if not more, as an assembly than I do as sole leader. Such does the Roman Republican system function. Need I also make you recall what an utter farce the Senate became when Rome started answering to one man only?"_

_For the first time, Cato looked uncertain. Also for the first time, Reyna's mouth twitched into a small smile, though there was about as much humour in it as there was sugar in the sea._

"_Horses raised up to consulship; senators and soldiers declared emperor only to be murdered days later; debates and demands ignored in favour of orgies and leisure; opinions and questions ignored," Reyna paused, and pointedly looked at each of them in the eye, "all but for those of the emperor. Oh yes, I know what you have been thinking, gentlemen. That I am not worthy of the degree of power vested in me. That I am perhaps not suited to be Praetor at all, or at least that I am no longer fit to lead by default of having been here too long. The legion needs a strong, dynamic leader after all."_

_The three senators started to speak and huff in protest, but Reyna held up a hand._

"_No, believe me or not, I understand your concerns. Perhaps I _have_ been here too long."_

_They stared at her, bemused. She smiled again, almost genuinely, but her face soon turned grave._

"_But let me pose you this, gentlemen. Suppose I _were_ to step down? How many officers in turn would be elected to take over? Indeed, how many would volunteer in the first place?"_

_Seeing Scaevola's fidgeting hands, Vitellino's scowl and Cato's impassive face, Reyna inclined her head and started pacing along the podium._

"_How many praetors would be raised up by your good selves, only to be replaced by another as soon as you start squabbling again? Please," she said, waving their protests away, "politics remain the same throughout the ages. Praetorship elections are military affairs, but only a fool would be unaware of your influence and bribes among my legionnaires. War is over now, the immutable nature and results of battlefield elections will be rare."_

_She stopped pacing and turned to stare at them again. Only Cato looked composed._

"_So to your questions, I answer this: If not me, who? If not a praetor, what? If not a Republic," she paused, her eyes glittering, "how?"_

_With that, she turned on her heel and walked out of the amphitheatre by the backstage, her dark cloak swishing and fluttering at her feet. Had she been able to hear him, Percy would have applauded. _

_However, as soon as Reyna left the huge space of the Senate, she leaned against the wall of a small corridor that lead out into the forum of the building. Her eyes closed, and for a moment, in the dim light of a few lamps and faraway sunlight, she looked almost ill. Her chest heaved slightly, and Percy knew there would be a swelling lump in her throat. His chest ached along with her, and he wished he could touch her shoulder, reassure her that Frank had her covered, that a word from her and he would come back._

_Reyna opened her eyes, staring up at the white marble ceiling._

"_Please," she whispered, "if anyone can hear me… I need help. New Rome needs help."_

_Percy wanted to shout out to her. He tried to. His voice came out silent as the single tear that leaked out of Reyna's eye. He watched, helpless, as the girl who had already suffered so much and so needlessly continued staring at the ceiling for a few more moments, as though hoping against hope to see godly writing on there, telling her what to do._

_After a little less than a minute, Reyna sighed and pushed herself off the wall, the weight of everything settling on her shoulders as though she had never stood up straight as an arrow in front of New Rome's crescent opposition. She started walking down the corridor again, deeper into the building. _

_Still in his dream, Percy followed her, powerless in his movements like a feather in a torrent. _

_Reyna walked on and on, until she reached a T-junction, where she turned left. As expected, Percy followed her, but when he turned around the corner Reyna had disappeared. Instead, Percy found himself in a darker corridor, of similar proportions to the one he'd just seen in New Rome, but infinitely longer and more sombre. Silvery doors lined each side, stretching on in countless numbers, the dark tiled walls winking and glinting faintly in the weak light of many flaming torches fixed between each door._

_Had he been corporeal in this dream, Percy would have stopped dead and stared in wonder. As it was, he glided slowly along the corridor, passing each door as silently as the wraith he was, wondering why the sudden change of scenery._

_The place was nothing like New Rome. The materials were darker, almost black, and the silver adornments of the doors and wall linings gave the place a distinctive funerary feel._

_Unable to struggle or do anything other than be carried along with his dream, Percy relentlessly went down the corridor, seriously beginning to question his presence there. The place felt empty, old, and full of things that were kept down here for a reason. He'd never seen it before._

_Down and down he went, gliding past each silver door without so much as a pause. At times, Percy thought he could hear… no, _feel_ a presence beside him. Almost as though someone were there with him, just beyond his sight at the corner of his eye. The second time it occurred, Percy tried with all his might to twist and see who was there, if only to satisfy his burning curiosity. But his gaze stayed resolutely forward, and a moment later he could have been alone in the world._

_Just a trick, Percy thought, seriously wishing he was going to wake up soon. Just my imagination taking advantage of the fact that I'm alone in a creepy place._

_Finally, he reached the end of the corridor, a stretch of black tiles punctuated by yet another identical silver door, and stopped. He stood there – floated, whatever – just looking at it._

_Great, Percy thought. All this drama for a locked door._

_He tried to examine the door, see if it had any hinges or handles, but found it extremely difficult. The dream was different here: less life-like and nothing like his usual demigod dreams, where he could usually see from various angles. He was sort of transfixed, as though he were staring at a picture for hours but only registering it for a split-second._

_Here, the dream looked almost too smooth to be real. There was no rhythm to his movements to indicate walking, the lines of every tile too precise and easy to make out, the transition from door to door too seamless to be real. There was no sound, either. Nor silence, which is essentially an absence of vibration, but rather anti-noise, where some quality in the air suffocated the merest possibility of sound and transformed it into a velvety vacuum. If space could not sound like something, it would be like that corridor._

_I'm in someone else's dream, Percy realised. _

_Then, just like that, he woke up._

0o0o00o0o0o0

"Malfoy!"

Nico sprinted down the path towards Hagrid's hut. Well, 'sprinted'. It wasn't a jog and it definitely wasn't walking, but there was a part of him that winced whenever he pictured himself running like one of the Apollo kids whenever someone stole their harp. So yeah, sprinting. In, like, an urgent and business-y way.

The other Slytherin boy turned around, an eyebrow arched in mild surprise. He probably wasn't used to people shouting out his surname like that, accustomed instead to curt nods of greeting or glowering, resentful looks of acknowledgment.

Malfoy smirked when he saw Nico. The latter noted with interest that the guy had shadows under his eyes. He was also alone, which was like seeing a pirate without an eyepatch or a pet parrot: it was almost wrong. Still, it was part of the reason Nico had decided to catch up with him.

"Di Angelo," the boy greeted, turning back to watch his step as they clambered down the steep hill that led to the grounds, "What can I do for you on this depressingly mundane morning?"

Nico scowled. He was breathing a little more heavily than usual, his cheeks probably flushed pink with haste; he didn't want Malfoy to think he'd been anxious to see him – it had been three days since their last encounter and the subsequent DA-coin drama.

"What did you mean the other day?" Nico asked without preamble. Small-talk wasn't his style. At all.

"You'll have to be a bit more precise, I'm afraid."

"Cut the crap," Nico snapped. "What did you mean by flicking a random coin at me and walking away like you held all the cards?"

Malfoy gave him a sly, sideways glance.

"I assumed my meaning was clear." He said.

"Well it wasn't," Nico said stubbornly, not caring if he sounded childish.

Malfoy sighed.

"And here I thought you were going to be one of the few people I wouldn't have to spell everything out for. Honestly, I have enough on my hands with two quasi-illiterate thugs without your tenuous grasp on diplomacy as well."

Nico spluttered.

"Diplomacy? That was practically blackmail!"

"Ah, so there _is_ something you're hiding," Malfoy said, the merest suggestion of triumph in his otherwise perfectly level tone. "I _had_ wondered. Three whole days."

Nico spluttered again, flushing. Finally, he answered angrily.

"You're pulling conclusions from thin air. I'm not doing anyth-"

"And had that been true you would have looked at me with raised eyebrows and that clueless expression you always wear whenever a teacher asks you a question."

Nico's jaw dropped open in sheer speechlessness.

Apparently expecting a reply, Malfoy turned his head with faint surprise on his face.

"It's not like it's a big deal," he said, slowly, as though he were teaching Nico how to use crayons, "we've all got something to hide. Our House just tends to be better at hiding it."

"Then why are you so intent on finding something out on me and my friends?" Nico hissed.

Malfoy shrugged.

"One does need distraction from time to time in this sorry excuse for a school. And besides, you have to admit the equation was intriguing."

"Equation?"

Malfoy's lip twitched, and he tutted faintly. They were now almost at Hagrid's hut.

"Again, spelling things out for you." He drawled. When Nico did not answer, he sighed and ploughed on. "Nine new exchange students arrive overnight without a word of warning, when the entirety of last year was a blaze of publicity for the fact that two foreign schools were meeting ours in a tournament. Said students were clearly unexpected, given that they were given their own dormitories and common room. Now, these students are spread across all four houses. All well and good – in a manner of speaking, of course. But these students all share the trait of being uncommonly clueless on every subject, perpetually clustered together whenever possible, giving vague answers to every prying question-"

"So that's all we are to you? An anomaly? A little puzzle?" Nico snorted. He should have known.

"Then there's the fact that Potter and his little fan club already seem quite attached to you," Malfoy continued as though Nico had not spoken, "or familiarised, at least. Given that you and I conduct civilised conversations on a regular basis and that McLean is never out of our High Inquisitor's office, I'd say that was quite a puzzle, yes. Certainly an achievement. There may be hope for you yet."

Nico stopped walking and stood, arms held loose by his side, staring at Malfoy and shaking his head in incomprehension. After a few moments, he managed to speak again, though it wasn't anything special.

"You… are…" he shook his head again, at a loss for the right word. "Insufferable. So… insufferable."

It was weak, and they both knew it. Malfoy just smiled, then turned around again and started walking.

They walked in silence for a few more moments, during which Nico re-evaluated his entire existence. Why was he here? Why had he chosen to speak to this jumped-up little git? Why were any of them here, in this mess? Because of some old spirit that liked to spout poetry every so often?

"So what _were_ those coins for?" Malfoy asked suddenly.

Nico almost choked on air.

_You mean… you don't know?_ he almost said. He recovered as quietly as possible.

"Buying things. Obviously. You have money, you should know. Or does Daddy control everything so that you don't have to?"

"Ho ho," Malfoy said in a bored tone. "Your turn to - ah, 'cut the crap'." He held up his fingers as quotation marks, his features twisting slightly in disdain at the commonness of it.

Nico stayed silent. Malfoy heaved a sigh.

"Come now, you can tell me, surely? I've no doubt Granger and your other clever friends have mapped out and eliminated every possibility of my still having the bloody thing – smart spellwork, by the way, impossible to create a lasting copy; the mudblood's work I imagine? Well here you go, _me voilà_ coin-less." He spread his arms for effect.

Nico still did not answer.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and let the silence get louder as they approached Hagrid's hut.

"But… come on!" Nico finally burst out, spinning around and stepping in front of Malfoy to stop him in his tracks. "All this drama for a single effing _coin_? Why would you think it was special anyway?" _And what were you thinking when you gave it back to me?_

Malfoy met his eyes.

"I found it odd how that group of stupid Hufflepuffs kept whispering to each other during Herbology, constantly pulling out a coin from their pocket and looking at it so closely it could have been a monocle. Naturally my first thought was that, for once in their lives, one of them had gotten hold of a galleon," Malfoy's mouth twitched into a sneer, "but despite his rather… _uncouth_ origins, McMillan is in fact – for lack of a better term given the context – loaded."

Nico watched, eyes narrowed at the smirking blond's face as he kept talking. He wanted to punch that face. He wanted to see it bruised and broken.

"So my next thought was a rare coin. But that didn't fit either, because the idiotic oaf kept pulling it out and showing it to his friends, as though once wasn't enough. Oh, under the table," he said, seeing Nico's arched eyebrow and suspicious expression, "but there's a lot to be said for watering the plants conveniently situated just behind them. After that, it was child's play to slip the coin from McMillan's robes as he and his pathetic team took over the Quidditch changing rooms after our practice."

Malfoy smirked and crossed his arms, his expression smug and triumphant.

"So, di Angelo. Have I proved my worth as a detecteror? Will you at least satisfy my academic curiosity on the matter?"

"As a detective?" Nico corrected absently, his mind whirring in the background, trying to discern hidden meanings, or perhaps a threat. Trying to _understand_. This was Draco Malfoy, after all. "Yeah, I guess."

He paused, then his mind lit up, having hit upon a realisation. And 'hit' in the sense, really, of a sledgehammer falling off a cliff and landing on something squidgy and tanned.

"It's just a shame," he said, more lightly than he'd had in the entire conversation, starting to walk again.

"Shame? How?" Malfoy asked sharply, following.

Nico heard with satisfaction the note of uncertainty in his voice.

"And here I thought I wouldn't have to spell everything out for you," he said for the pleasure of it, almost teasingly, relishing the anger behind Malfoy's narrowed gaze as he caught up with him.

The Slytherin studied him for a moment, watching Nico's impassive face with a calculating expression.

"You're bluffing. You're… _relieved_, aren't you?" he said, after a while. "You're pleased that I don't know what the coins are for, which means they _do_ serve an ulterior purpose. Which means that now you're playing with me. Making me guess."

Nico arched an eyebrow.

"Am I?"

Malfoy stayed silent as he studied Nico again, chewing his lip in prolonged consideration. After another long moment, Malfoy ran a hand through his white-blond hair and around his neck, before turning back towards the path and walking away.

"Damned if I know," he muttered.

And for the first time in three days, Nico smirked.

He reflected, later on that day, that perhaps he had made a mistake taunting and baiting Malfoy like that. The guy would surely be keeping a weather eye open wider than ever now. But, he decided, it had been worth it in the end. They still held most of the cards, if not all. All Malfoy had was suspicions and half-hidden conversations, whereas Nico, through Leo's ingenuity, had solid proof in his pocket.

His arrival in their private common room was like a hero's homecoming. He was clapped, pounded and punched repeatedly on the arm and back, his ears ringing with the sound of whoops and cheers. Everyone was there, even Apollo – fully known as Phoebus now – and Harry's little trio.

"Did you get it?" Leo asked eagerly, standing atop the coffee table in a Columbus-worthy pose.

Nico pulled out the small device from his pocket and dropped it at Leo's feet, and grinned.

"Yep."

Leo punched the air, letting out another whoop that would have put a banshee to shame.

"Now we've got him! If we go down, he gets dragged down with us!"

"I still can't believe you managed to do it," Hermione said, her face and tone envious.

"Hard work and relentless experimentation, darlin'." Leo replied happily, scooping up the little black object and holding it up like the Holy Grail. "Behold, the common sound recorder!"

"But I thought your tecmopology didn't work in Hogwarts?" Ron asked with a frown, a little behind the troops as usual.

"Not the ordinary kind," Leo replied, his face lit up with the triumph of success. "When I first got here I thought that magic had to have some sort of scientific or mechanical source, but as it turns out it's a lot like electricity except in the ways that matter…"

There followed a ten-minute lecture that nobody followed, which included words like 'sentience', and 'magical core', even 'parallels' and 'twin forces', but altogether amounted to the result that, basically, magic could be persuaded to work alongside technology if the right 'environment' was provided.

Nico was lost within thirty seconds of Leo's passionate litany, and even Hermione's brow creased as she tried to keep up with the unfamiliar terminology, but it ended with a beaming Leo and a few glazed-over but impressed looks.

"So, if I understand correctly," Hermione said slowly, "Magic and electricity are both forces with enormous potential, but either cancel each other out or make the other go haywire, as it were, unless a certain degree of… of insulation is present?"

Leo's lips moved silently, and he cocked his head to the side, staring up at the ceiling with slits for eyes as he compared Hermione's words to his thesis.

"Er… yes," he said finally, looking a bit sheepish. "Yes, I guess you could say it like that."

Hermione nodded, already lost in thought.

"Fascinating…"

Phoebus-Apollo looked uncomfortable.

"Yes, that's all very well and good, but could someone please explain what's going on? Only I was in the middle of a particularly inspiring ode, and-"

"It means, mate," Ron said with a grin, "that we've got the upper hand over the Snakes! No offence meant, of course." he added hastily in Nico and Piper's direction, who shrugged.

"Yes, but-"

"Never mind about politics, let's celebrate!" Percy said quickly, clapping the former god on the back, effectively winding him.

His words were greeted with a cheer, followed by a flurry of activity centring on bringing out their last goodies from Hogsmeade and trying to explain to Ron the concept and utility of a sound recorder.

But Percy exchanged a brief glance with his demigod friends. They hadn't gotten round to actually explaining the whole situation to Apollo yet, having only just recently managed to train him into not idly mentioning stuff about Olympus, the gods, and his former life as one of them in public.

Nico had to admit though, considering the former god's utter haplessness in any kind of mortal-related situation, he was doing pretty well. He'd accepted Harry's deal with a surprising amount of grace, kept his word to Percy that he would be present only to aid them, and had overall adapted relatively well to Hogwarts. Annabeth had only had to stun him once, when he'd ventured out of the Room of Requirement in search for companionship, which he'd found in a portrait of nymphs a floor below. When he awoke, his first word had been 'Daphne', whatever that meant.

Since, he had been fairly reserved, singing quietly to himself in a corner, or watching in silence as the demigods did their homework. He'd started to use the Room of Requirement as his preferred means of transport around the castle, something DA members had not yet thought of, leaving him free to visit the demigod common room any time he wished. Still, there was an air of deep sadness around him, which Nico had to admit he understood. The guy had been cast out and exiled by his own father. Hades didn't score so high on parenting standards, but at least he'd always made it clear (admittedly obscurely on occasion) that he wanted Nico around.

They partied on for a while, some non-exhaustive highlights including Leo imitating a constipated Umbridge, a mildly-intoxicated Ron asking to try on Harry's glasses and proceeding to trip over two chairs and someone's legs, Percy recounting some of the (mostly non-deliberate) mischief he'd been caught up in during his hectic academic career, and, lastly, a haunting and plaintive melody sung by Apollo once the atmosphere had turned calm and friendlier than ever. Upon discovering that he was talented in all things musical, Hermione – who could play the piano but had the self-confessed voice of a deaf toad – conjured a beautiful lyre and handed it to him, eyes pleading for a song.

Full of hesitation, and only once Percy nodded reassuringly, Apollo had taken the lyre, plucked a few chords, and started to sing.

And boy, could he sing.

The effect was as captivating as the Bean Nighe's song that day in the forest. The words were Greek, but the melody was so sad and high and hauntingly beautiful that even the wizards in the room had no problem understanding the pain of loss behind them.

Maybe the gods weren't given enough credit for what they did, Nico thought unconsciously as the music washed over him. After all, if they were gods of something, it meant they were good at it, right? For all their frequent silliness and behaviour bordering on the outrageous, they were pretty good at their stuff.

Apollo sang of grief, and loss, and love, as far as Nico could understand. And somehow, perhaps it was part of the magic, everyone in the room felt his song pluck a unique chord in their chests.

When it was finished, Apollo's voice left a vacuum in the room, as though he had unpicked all their emotions from their hearts and spun them into a few, pure notes of sheer beauty. Looking around, Nico saw Hermione wipe a tear from her eye. Harry was sitting with his knees tucked under his chin, gazing at Apollo's still fingers on the strings of the lyre. Even Thalia's gaze looked lost in the distance.

He cleared his throat, hating to break the spell.

"Guys," he said quietly, "It's nearly eleven."

The curfew was generally flouted by students, especially by the DA since a lot of their meetings happened in the evenings and the RoR offered such convenient functions, but being out and about this late would attract the wrath of not just Umbridge but the entire staff.

Stirring, Harry and his friends blinked and landed back in reality. They left, congratulating Nico and Leo once again on their success, and somehow each and every person parted ways feeling much fonder of everyone else, and secure in the knowledge that it was mutual all around.

Just as the trio went through the portrait, once Hermione and Ron had gone through, Harry turned around and put his hand on Apollo's shoulder. With a solemn expression on his face, he addressed a few words to him in a voice low enough that Nico could not make out a single one, then turned and ducked out of the portrait's entrance himself, leaving behind a profoundly relieved-looking Apollo.

Nico thought about asking him what he'd been told, but thought better of it. The least the guy could have right now was some privacy.

He went to sit back down next to his friends around the coffee table. Annabeth had declared this a night off, so for once it was free from the usual mess of parchment rolls, books and stray pens, though there were still bits of paper because there are always bits of paper lying around when they're not wanted. Leo had pulled one of them towards him, and was now sketching idly as the demigods settled into the couches and armchairs around them, dozy but not quite ready to go to bed yet.

"That was beautiful, what Apollo sang earlier," Hazel commented, _à propos_ of nothing.

"Mm," Thalia agreed, fiddling with a strand of her hair. "Made me think of stuff."

"What kind of stuff?" Hazel asked.

"Stuff."

Nico snorted softly, and turned to look at Percy, who had leant over Leo's shoulder to peer at his drawing. After a second, Nico realised something was wrong. Percy had blanched, his sun-drawn freckles suddenly stark on his white cheeks, and he was breathing heavily.

"What is it?" Nico asked, leaning forward urgently.

"That drawing…" Percy stuttered. "I recognise it… It's – how? My dream... I had a _dream_ about it."

Leo looked up in surprise.

"Did you? So did I."

Nico pulled the small piece of parchment towards him. Leo had etched a perspective drawing, full of straight lines and dark shadows. It showed a corridor panelled with dark tiles and dotted with silver doors.

"Me too," he said quietly.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Kudos to Risa Silvara for the dream idea. Thanks, love :-)**

**A few of you, I think, will wonder at Harry's behaviour in this chapter, but it is intentional, you'll see.**

**This chapter was quite short, I know, but I just felt that it ended quite well here. Next chapter we will have DA developments, some Umbridge intervention, amongst other things. Chapter 20 will be bordering on Christmassy, I think.**

**Lake25: Yes to both of your questions, though I'm not sure when yet.**

**WonderGirl, there aren't any age limits on this site. At least set up an account so that I can contact you, I need your help. Please, please, please?**

**Mango21: I could not agree more (on the wordiness). Thank you for your feedback, I'll be pruning those chapters, don't you worry. I think I'm learning to cut down on endless monologues (hopefully), so with luck you won't have to trawl through them anymore. Thanks again!**


	19. Ad Honoris Causam

**Chapter 19 - Ad Honoris Causam**

"No, no, _not_ like-"

_Thwack_.

"-that." Frank finished lamely.

The knife shuddered in the cork board, impressively hilt-deep but also about two feet away from the painted red bull's eye, the intended target.

Dean Thomas winced.

"Sorry."

Frank raised an eyebrow.

"The board moved." Dean protested half-heartedly.

"And Snape's dating Umbridge. Look, re-adjust your grip. It's a throwing knife, not a spear." Frank sighed, doing it for him for the third time.

A few feet away, Thalia was demonstrating some basic self-defence moves to some wide-eyed Hufflepuffs. The gestures she was making looked half martial and half spontaneous, like she was making it up as she went along but doing a damn good job of it. Frank had never actually found out how Thalia knew so much about fighting. She was one of Artemis' handmaidens, of course, which had to come in handy when genes or hard work weren't part of the backstory, but she moved very fluidly for someone who'd only been doing it professionally for a couple of years.

Despite their impressed faces, the Hufflepuffs made little effort to imitate her, preferring to stare and then nervously glance and chuckle at each other, saying things like "There's no _way_ I could do that", or even "It looks great, but I'd just look silly doing it". It got to a point where Thalia deliberately kicked Ernie Macmillan with a spinning kick just to get a reaction from him that would have looked out of place on Paddington Bear, but received only a gasp of pain and a reproachful look.

"You're supposed to fight me back with your limbs, not hurt puppy eyes!" Thalia sighed, rolling hers.

"But… that wouldn't be very nice."

"Nice?" Thalia twisted around and stared at her small audience. "Oh, sure. Let's all be _nice_ to each other and have tea with crumpets and jam. What d'you think the Death Eaters will prefer when we invite them, Earl Grey or Green?"

"That's not how you eat crum- I'm just saying… It's not right-" Ernie mumbled, rubbing his shoulder. "You're a girl."

Thalia narrowed her eyes.

"A really, _really_ good fighter kind of girl," Ernie quickly amended, backing away by a foot or so, "But my Da told me never to hit girls."

"Same here," Justin Finch-Fletchley, putting his hands behind his back firmly. "We don't hit girls."

Thalia only had one response to that. With another eye-roll, she swiftly kicked their legs out from under them, sending both boys tumbling over each other before their faces could register more than surprise. Only Hannah Abbott was left, and she trembled slightly. Thalia raised an eyebrow. The Hufflepuff girl gulped, but then thrust out her chin and tentatively shifted into the position the huntress had showed them at the very start, holding up her hands as well as she could make them.

Frank saw Thalia suppress a smile, and turned away with a smile on his own face before the two girls could finish their duel. A few seconds later, he heard a gasp of surprise and a small yelp of pain, followed by a thump.

Percy was instructing his own little group in the art of sword-fighting. As with Frank's proposed exercise – attempts at knife-throwing and perhaps a little archery later – they'd had trouble convincing Harry to let them teach a little of it during DA sessions. Harry couldn't see the point of it at first, since wizarding duels were fought only with wands, but Ron had been so excited to learn muggle fighting-skills that he soon relented, and Hermione's pointed comment concerning the risk of losing their wands in a duel cemented his decision. That was not to say he was happy about the inclusion of knives, swords and archery in the program, but he had little choice in the matter: the mere sight of the weapons that afternoon had been enough to cause noisy ripples of excitement through the class like rumours of peanuts among apes in a zoo.

Percy was having trouble keeping control over his group. It didn't help that half of them hadn't seen a sword before except on suits of armour around the school.

"Okay, so, Hermione has very kindly shown us all how to conjure wooden swords – don't worry if you can't do it yet; I had trouble making mine-"

"Is that why yours is all shiny, then?" Zacharias Smith asked, his nose scrunched up.

"Hm? Oh, I made a mistake and conjured bronze instead. Yeah, so, I was saying – try to slash and jab, _without_ all the flourishing stuff you see in movies."

"Movies?"

"Uh, yeah, like moving pictures but… er, better. Anyway, just don't think it's fencing, okay? It's not the right type of sword, and any unnecessary movement will just make you tired sooner than you can afford. Oh, and footwork's important as well."

"Like this?" Ron made a jerking forward gesture with his sword, lunging forward with his right foot like in an illustrated nineteenth century catalogue on stretching.

Percy cocked his head. With a move like that, Ron would either have lost his entire arm or been stabbed through the large area underneath that left his side open.

"It's a start," he said finally. "Try and keep your body covered at all times, though…"

On the other side of the room, another unusual DA activity was taking place. Having uncovered the key to making technology and magic work in proximity, Leo had set himself the task of instructing a few worthy others in the art. Of those present were Annabeth, Hermione, Michael Corner, Marius Fell and a Hufflepuff boy whose name he could never remember. Steve, or something.

Despite Hermione's succinct summary of the stint a few days ago in their common room, the theory behind it was a lot more complex than it seemed, and even Leo was still delightfully unaware of its many rules and consequences. He'd been practicing on Umbridge (nothing special, just a couple of gadgets. He kept reminding himself "baby steps, baby steps.") which had yielded spectacular results. There had only been a few explosions in his experiments so far, and one electrical shock, so overall things were looking good, even if Leo walked around with only one eyebrow and his hair constantly standing on end. His small class that day was rather ostentatiously wearing goggles and gloves, eyeing Leo's excited hands flutter around the equipment as though expecting them to burst into flames at any moment – which was ridiculous, really, because Leo now had almost complete control over that, and if anything was going to burst into flame it would be the components, not his hands.

He'd said as much, and Marius had nervously cast a fire-proof spell on his gloves.

Wimp. No sense of adventure.

Harry stood to the side, arms crossed and a peculiar expression on his face. It was one of the few sessions left before the Christmas break, which was why he'd allowed different activities to take place – students were getting restless in every class, so rather than going over old stuff again and again he'd opted for different, special kinds of training. Then again, he reflected as he watched Ron's sword get easily spun out of his hand by Percy, he wondered if these weren't a bit _too_ special. Knives, swords… they'd even suggested archery at some point.

"All right, Harry?" Dean called out from a few steps away.

Harry smiled, trying not to wince – Cho Chang had just ducked from a nasty swipe.

"Different landscape today, eh?"

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Cho had just caught his eye and grinned. Should he smile back, or would that be too strange?

"You know what you're missing?" Dean continued, unaware of Harry's inattentiveness. "Someone who knows about this. Who knows fighting for what it is, not just a series of sparkly lights and noises."

"These guys seem to have it covered," Harry said, glancing at their American classmates, who had taken over his class with the kind of ease Harry himself had so lacked when the DA had started.

Dean shook his head.

"I meant someone who's lived through this kind of thing on almost a daily basis."

Harry looked at him, curious now.

"Seamus."

"Seamus? But he's our age! And he's not part of the DA. He wouldn't even be part of the same dormitory if he could help it." Harry said, not bothering to hide the bitterness.

"He's lived in Belfast his entire life."

Harry was silent. Everyone heard about events in Belfast sooner or later, even when they spent their time hiding in their bedroom or were forced to crouch behind couches to listen to the news.

"Harry, he could help with this sort of thing. He told me stories about what happened in his neighbourhood, he even showed me what happened to _him_. Percy and his friends are good teachers, but they treat it like a kind of hobby, you know? Seamus has permanent marks on him to serve as a reminder of what that kind of fighting can do. 'Cause this isn't duelling, mate," Dean said, turning to look at Harry directly, "this is the kind of thing that gets a whole lot uglier when it actually happens. Hexes and curses are practically hygienic compared to knife wounds and fist-fights."

"If you don't want to do this, no-one's forcing you to join in." Harry reminded him.

Dean looked offended.

"Are you kidding? This stuff is maybe the only thing that'll actually be useful in the real world! No, I'm staying. I just think that we might need someone who has more down-to-earth experience with this."

"I'm not stopping Seamus from joining," Harry said shortly, "It's him who has a problem, not me."

Dean hesitated.

"I know, and I wish I could say I'll talk him into it, but…"

Harry nodded.

"I understand." And he did.

0o0o0o0o0o0o

Piper found Hermione in the library, shockingly.

She plonked down on the opposite side of the massive oak table covered with textbooks, eliciting a jump and a slight scowl from Hermione as she involuntarily scratched a word out in surprise.

More quietly, Hazel sat herself beside Piper and greeted the Gryffindor with a shy nod. Hermione smiled briefly back, then turned back to Piper with an inquisitive air.

"I have a proposal," Piper announced.

"Oh?" Hermione held up one finger and looked around cautiously. "Two tics, then." She pulled out her wand and made a circular motion over her shoulder. "_Muffliato_. There. Piper… is it even sensible to talk so publicly? Won't Umbridge-"

"I'm supposed to be spying on you, remember?"

Hermione hesitated, but motioned for her to go on.

"I heard you and Annabeth were bent on building a legal case against Umbridge."

Hermione nodded, though her expression remained doubtful.

"We discussed it," she admitted, "and even did a fair bit of preliminary research. But we've hit a bit of a dead end," she sighed. "Terry and Marius are trying to help, but Terry's parents work in the law department and he reckons it's almost impossible to attack her from that perspective. He says the system is already backing her up by sheer association."

Piper nodded, that confirmed what she thought.

"And then there's the matter of proof," Hermione continued wistfully. "Those blood quills she uses in mass detentions are all duplicates of an original, I'm sure, which makes it very hard to prove she's using them. Testimonies aren't enough."

Piper exchanged a look with Hazel.

"Well," the daughter of Pluto said, lowering her voice despite the effectiveness of the Muffliato charm, "we've got an idea about that…"

With Hazel's help, Piper exposed their plan to Hermione, who listened with an attentive frown. When they finished, she was idly twisting the nib on her quill on her parchment, making little swirly designs on the yellow paper. From her expression, she was lost in thought.

"I think it could work," she said finally, with much caution. "And it would be useful. Make Umbridge feel like she's fully in power again. She's raring to strike back as it is."

The past few weeks had indeed been very trying for their High Inquisitor. It was rumoured she was petitioning for physical punishment – of the more obvious kind, clearly – to be reinstated as legitimate discipline. Filch had been all of a flutter for three days, and for once was encouraging gossip in the corridors, occasionally participating himself.

"Leave the co-ordination to us," Piper said, preparing to get up. "You and your team can do the follow-up paperwork and contact the right people, since that's right up your street."

Hermione smiled faintly.

"And then we'll all team up for the final task?" she asked quietly.

Piper and Hazel glanced at each other, then nodded.

Umbridge wouldn't know what hit her.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Mid-November rains had given way to snow, forcing all students to wear several layers of clothing despite the large blazing fireplace in each room, and magically dig trenches in the snow on their way to Herbology and Care or Magical Creatures. But no matter how cold and frosty Hogwarts became, or how boring lectures seemed when there were things like marshmallow parties and hot chocolate to look forward to, there seemed to be always a rather electric quality to the air of the place. Students could be heard commenting on it in the corridors, attributing it to the magic of the school, to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, to Filch's new cleaning product - even to a mysterious new jinx Umbridge might have cast on the corridors to further spy on her charges.

Only the demigods felt certain of the cause. It was quite simple really, because whatever tingles their classmates unconsciously registered, _they_ felt like shocks of static from a trampoline.

Their individual powers were playing up. Maybe it was because they had almost reached maturity, or perhaps they had just been left unused for too long. Either way, Percy had to concentrate not to send water shooting up from his glass at mealtimes – he'd already inadvertently caused damage to the showers two days beforehand.

On Hazel's part, despite not having touched it or experimented with it since their departure from Camp Half-Blood, she was having trouble with the Mist. If previously they had doubted its presence in the wizarding world, there was no doubt now that it was just as malleable as it was in their world, and perhaps even more powerful – the magic seemed to simply egg it on. In the span of three days, Hazel had accidentally created a spare marble staircase, rearranged the seating of her classes, and witnessed a very confused Snape as he stared, dumbfounded, at the blank stretch of wall that had until then quite certainly been the cupboard in which he stored students' potions of the day.

As for the shapeshifting Frank, he had turned into an eagle a couple of times, and it was only thanks to extreme fortune and Annabeth's quick thinking that he had not been discovered. The daughter of Athena had an easier time of it, since the divine legacies her mother had left her were rather more immaterial, yet even she was more alert and quick to react than usual, her gaze growing in intensity by the day and occasionally startling little first-years if she happened to make eye-contact.

Jason and Thalia were perhaps the worst off, since static was often in the air around them on principle. They kept unintentionally zapping people when someone handed them a book or clapped them on the shoulder, having to profusely apologise and explain that their gloves were made of acrylic, a plastic-based material which could occasionally cause mild electrical reactions (an explanation that left some purebloods highly impressed but somewhat wary of muggle manufacture – "Self-defensive clothing? I thought only magic could do that!").

A common trait between all of them was constantly being on edge, their ADHD seemingly increasing every day. Annabeth attributed it to long-term stress over the nature of their mission, but they all knew, deep inside, that it was more fundamental than that.

They were demigods. And the same way that humans needed stability to thrive, gods occasionally needed to shake things up a little to show who was boss. Slowly, perhaps inevitably, the usual equilibrium between the two halves of their nature was fragmenting and tipping to one side, prompting spells of impulsiveness and frustration they found hard to understand, let alone control.

Thus, without it ever having really been discussed – some things needed neither prompt nor inspiration – their unanimous approach to the problem was to vent their frustrations on a natural target.

And, really, the target had it coming for months.

0o0o0o0o0o0

It was a curious thing that, at present, Dolores Umbridge would never leave the building in any other bottoms than a pencil skirt. Of course in such chilly weather it was hardly suitable, the snow and mud often leaving large spots on her tights, not to mention that the tight hemline of the skirt squeezed the woman's knees together and gave her an even more waddling stance than usual. But the fact was that no matter the weather or temperature that day, whenever she would step outside the castle the High Inquisitor would immediately be subjected to violent and sudden gusts of wind, knocking off her carefully positioned berets and causing her ample robes or full skirt to fly up high in a most undignified manner.

Then there was the matter of her memory problems. She would have sworn, for instance, that every day before she emerged from her rooms to start her day she would put on her smart, patent leather shoes, and shrug on a jacket of a particularly fluorescent shade of pink she was fond of. Yet in the past few days, she had twice turned up to class in her fluffy, cat-eared slippers, and on one memorable occasion had even attended breakfast with her colleagues fully attired in her nightclothes. Flitwick, that shrivelled old imp, had fallen off his high chair in giggling surprise. The most puzzling thing of all was that, no matter how many times she played her morning routine in her head, Dolores felt _sure_ she had put on her proper clothes. She had _seen_ her shoes, and jolly well felt the scratchy woollen fabric of her jumper. But she had somehow failed to notice that she was wearing her nightgown and dressing robe until Minerva had stared at her for a full ten seconds, before primly asking whether she was feeling indisposed, or perhaps forgetful.

Well, no… but fortune did seem to have it in for her these days.

Her shower two days ago had sprayed cold saltwater for a full thirty minutes before she admitted defeat and turned to her sink instead. Yet when Mr Filch came to have a look at it for her the plumbing had looked perfectly functional, and issued a gentle jet of steaming water within seconds of turning it back on again. She'd thought nothing of it, until the same thing happened again, twice.

Consequences included her bratty students taking to calling out to her in the corridors. The self-entitled little fools asking if her feet were feeling warm enough today, or perhaps she'd like a dressing gown, since the fire was on the other side of the classroom? And they'd kept up that ridiculous practice of saluting whenever she entered a room, too. She'd never demanded such a thing, but even the scrawniest first-year appeared convinced that she had.

But the strangeness hadn't ended there. Oh, no.

Dolores had always liked cats. They didn't judge, or argue, or do anything that wasn't compatible to their nature. They behaved like royalty, and expected to be treated as such. They also didn't speak much, at least not in any comprehensible form, which was what she really liked about them. She'd always thought of herself as a bit of a cat-magnet as well, usually with a touch of pride. Cats liked her. They could tell she was soft and approachable, and always willing to give them a bit of a stroke.

Recently, however, Dolores worried that perhaps she was a bit _too_ likeable. It was quite simple: every cat in the place adored her! She'd never realised it before, but it seemed that half the brats in this school had a feline familiar. They followed her in corridors, meowing and trotting after her in the hope of a pet and a treat, sometimes as many as six or seven of them. Dolores had briefly considered obtaining a decree to restrict the movements of student-owned familiars, but that would have affected the mail system and Cornelius would object to that. And even Dolores herself was only mildly irritated by it, quite liking the undisguised adoration in the creatures' eyes as they traced her every step.

That is, until the demon cats.

She shuddered now even thinking about it.

All the cats involved in the recent phenomenon were fluffy, well-fed creatures – except Mrs Norris, but even she recognised that one was probably a lost cause – they'd been all intent on getting a petting and a cuddle. But just this afternoon, as she was hurrying back to her office, she'd felt something brush at her ankle. She bent over without looking at first, ready to stroke the insatiable little devil, but then her fingers made contact and she turned to look and at once had recoiled and jumped back in horror. The… the _thing_ that was demanding affection from her was a cat, but also quite recognisably a _dead_ one. By the look of its thin, mangled body with bits of dry skins still hanging off the vertebrae and around the ankles, it had been for some time. The horrid creature's skeleton poked out at all the worst places to look, and some of its fur had come off and stuck to Dolores' sock, but the worst part – somehow – was its eyes. The tiny skull barely had any tissue left on it to be called a head, but the eyes still had bits of… matter in them, and those slivers of dead flesh _glowed_. Red.

It had been faint, and brief enough that in the moment she felt she may have imagined it, but afterwards she knew it had been real. She shuddered again.

"Professor?"

Dolores jumped.

The girl was looking at her with an inquiring expression, her face as smooth and blank as usual.

"Oh… oh yes, Miss McLean. Do continue," Dolores said graciously, gesturing with her hand.

The girl nodded curtly.

"That's it for Potter and his friends, Professor. They keep to their common room a lot."

"No signs of digression from them? They keep to the curfew, go about their work and activities with no sign of trouble?"

"Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley perform their seasonal prefect duties as Professor McGonagall instructed them, and otherwise patrol the corridors to enforce curfew, but appear to keep to the rules."

"What about during lessons? Do they in any way disregard the Ministry?"

The girl shook her head.

"Not that I know of. The teachers always stick very close to their lesson plans, and students generally do as they're told. Conversations in class never rise above the mundane."

"No, I suppose they wouldn't." Umbridge muttered, more to herself.

Miss McLean gazed impassively at her, the very picture of demure obedience. Dolores had to admit she was a good means of finding out what she needed to know 'behind the scenes', as it were, and congratulated herself for having recruited the girl. She was close to her American friends, but had proven true to Slytherin House values by recognising the power at play and offering her assistance. So far, reports from her had been regular and succinct, though predictably a large number of them told of silly childish behaviour and obnoxious comments that had no place in a child's mouth, which were unfortunate but too common to be worth investigating.

If she were perfectly honest, Dolores was more suspicious of her fellow teachers than their pupils. What could children possibly do against the Ministry without teachers behind them to egg them on? Only the Potter boy and his acolytes were worth her time to watch, and even then she had her doubts: the boy was nothing but a dim-witted lackey, subject to Dumbledore's every whim, and it was only at Cornelius' insistence that she kept tabs on him. The boy had no real power, paltry influence, and dismissible talent which in any case seemed to revolve around throwing tantrums.

"Very well, if that's all you may return to your day, Miss McLean." Dolores sad, gracefully waving a hand at her as she turned back to her papers.

"Actually, there is another matter which I think deserves your attention, Professor."

Dolores looked up.

"Oh? And you didn't mention this beforehand because-?"

"I don't believe it has anything to do with Potter, Professor. Though it may involve some of his friends." The girl said. Her face was as blank as it had always been since the day Dolores had informed her of her duties as the High Inquisitor's personal watchman. Sensible girl. Perhaps she had a future in the Ministry.

"Do tell."

"There are talks among some students to stage an event of some magnitude sometime before the Christmas holidays." Piper reported, "A prank of some sort, though I gather the sentiment behind it verges less on the seasonal than the communicative."

"A message, you mean?" Dolores questioned, suddenly sharp. "What message?"

Piper gazed at her impassively.

"They weren't explicit, but suffice to say that many students aren't happy with the changes your office has enforced, Professor."

"So in short they are planning resistance of some sort." Dolores felt the warm little flame of satisfaction burn in her chest. How predictable these children were.

She waved a hand in the air.

"In that case, I am sure we can act in time to thwart it," she said with a sweet smile. "Keep me informed of the who and the when."

For the first time, a faint frown creased the girl's smooth countenance.

"That… may prove to be difficult, Professor. I am not close to the group who are planning it-"

"So you know who is behind it?" Dolores asked archly, though with a note of triumph. "Why didn't you say so, silly girl? We can act now, and stop any ridiculous behaviour that threatens the educational purpose of this establishment. The Minister will not stand for any of this."

The impassiveness was back.

"I know some, and suspect others. But I don't think names are of much use to us for the moment, Professor."

Dolores raised an eyebrow.

"And why not?"

"Because better to let them plan the prank and catch them red-handed than swoop down when they are not yet guilty of anything other than fantasy." The girl said, her polite voice washing over the High Inquisitor like warm honey poured by singing angels. "That way we let them reveal themselves completely to us without having to lift a finger. Just like we did when those students were planning some kind of fighting group."

Dolores found herself nodding along. Of course this girl was right, how could she doubt it for any second? She sounded so reasonable and polite. There was no way in Avalon Dolores could find fault with the idea. Especially since, something like a warm little voice reminded her faintly with a touch of pride, that little decree following McLean's denunciation _had_ worked rather well too.

"Very well." Dolores said, giving the girl a look which, she felt, conveyed the right amount of subtle complicity given the circumstances. "Just make sure you find out the time and the place."

She watched as the girl bit her lip, but pressed them together and exited the office with a polite nod and a quiet "Goodnight, Professor", and Dolores was pleased that she didn't repeat her concern at her new difficult position. She was learning.

Unfortunately for her, she missed the faint sound a few feet away from her office door. But even if she had she probably would not have recognised it, for it was rather similar to, say, two people exchanging a high five, a practice that was decidedly unfamiliar to Dolores Umbridge.

0o0o0o0o0o0

The worst bit about having a friend who was the King of Ghosts?

His subjects could literally pop up at anytime, _anywhere_.

Percy yelped as he pulled back to shower curtain to see two very large silvery eyes. He stumbled back several feet, knocking over the towel rack and tripping backwards before hitting his head on the sink. Moaning Myrtle floated out of the shower cubicle, looking like she was trying not to smirk and having to settle for flushing silver.

"Myrtle," Percy groaned loudly, rubbing his throbbing head. "What are you doing here?"

"Just came to give my usual report to Nico," the ghost girl said, her innocent blinking severely marred by the fact that she had not averted her eyes in the slightest. In fact, her stare was intense and almost hungry.

Percy nervously rearranged the towel around himself.

"No, I meant why are you in the _boys'_ bathroom, in a _private_ dormitory, at-" he squinted at his watch, "six-thirty in the morning?"

"I didn't design the plumbing system, you know, which happens to be the easiest way here. And ghosts don't need sleep." She pouted, vexed at the reminder of her death.

"Sleep? _Sleep_? I'm not sleeping! In fact I _was_, but strangely enough we all have lives to live and I was _counting_ on having a shower without someone spying on me through the tap!"

Myrtle looked deeply hurt.

"_Lives to live_?" she repeated shrilly. "Do you even know how insensitive that is to a – to someone like me?"

Percy snorted.

"Actually yeah, I guess zooming around the castle's pipes ogling at every innocent bather doesn't count enough as a life to make it real."

Myrtle's eyes welled up with tears.

"Why are you so horrible to me today?" she shouted, some of them starting to dribble down her cheeks.

"Because I'm half-asleep, half-naked, and having a conversation with a _ghost_ in my bathroom at six-thirty in the morning!" he shouted back.

"You don't like me!" Myrtle sobbed, howling in the fistful of robes she was holding up against her face.

"_Like_ –? Ngh. ? - I have a girlfriend!" he yelled, holding the towel around himself even tighter. "Do you even _know_ what she'd do if-"

"It's not like you minded _before_."

Percy felt himself go nearly apoplectic.

"_What do you mean befo_-"

"Percy," said a voice from the doorway, "calm down. You've probably woken up the girls."

It was Nico, freshly crawled out of bed and hair sticking up in odd places. He looked tired and decidedly unsurprised at Myrtle's presence.

All anger deflated in Percy like a bouncy castle who'd had its plug ripped off by a temperamental child. He glanced at the fallen towels, Myrtle's tears, his own flushed face in the mirror. Gods, he did not want Annabeth to walk in on this scene.

"What the hell are your ghosty friends doing in our bathroom?" Percy demanded weakly.

Nico looked surprised.

"You didn't know? Myrtle does it all the time. All over the castle." He smirked. "Mind you, I suppose she wouldn't make an advert of it, but everyone in Slytherin knows. And she makes it her business to keep other Houses ignorant of her little voyeur trips too."

Myrtle had still not removed the robes from her face, but what little they could see of her face was opaque silver.

Percy shuddered. He was _never_ having a shower in Hogwarts ever again. He'd master that Scourgify spell. He'd-

"Myrtle," Nico was saying, addressing the ghost girl directly, "In future, please report to me via other means. The common room downstairs will do. And you will not trespass in this room ever again."

Myrtle was still for a moment, then she raised her blotched face from her hands.

"Yes, master Nico. I mean… Nico." She said thickly.

Percy felt bad for her for a second, then remembered that she'd been spying on them the whole term and he scowled, tightening the towel again. Still, he threw a relieved look at Nico and a nod of thanks.

Nico shrugged and gave him an awkward kind of look that successfully conveyed the meaning _sorry I didn't do it earlier_.

"We have business to attend to," he said, leaning out of the door and beckoning for Myrtle to follow. "Did you send for the others as I asked?"

"Yes," Myrtle replied, still sullen.

"Good. We have a new thing coming, and we need more eyes out than ever. Umbridge is to be constantly watched, and I want regular tabs on Dumbledore as well. Someone ought to haunt the board of Governors' meeting room as well, since I gather Malfoy's father is very active there…"

Percy listened to Nico's voice fade as he and Myrtle left the dorm and descended into their little common room. He shuddered. If he understood correctly, there would soon be a whole lot more ghosts around, and he didn't feel inclined to join Nico in his merry little spy meeting.

He eyed the shower suspiciously. Myrtle was now forbidden to enter this room, but how many other ghosts shared her habits?

Very carefully, he edged out from behind the towel rack and, veeery carefully, he pulled the shower curtain out as far as it would go, keeping a firm grip on his towel at the waist.

Half an hour later, he was at breakfast in the Great Hall sitting next to Annabeth, who so far remained blissfully unaware of the morning's drama.

The school's faculty had been hard at work the past few days, and especially last night. It was now the first of December, and Hogwarts had woken up to a decidedly more festive atmosphere. Never-melting snow lay everywhere in the castle, artfully dusted into little heaps on the edges of corridors and windowsills. Large red and silver baubles dangled from every nook and cranny, emitting gentle bell music whenever someone walked by them and occasionally spurting little puffs of glitter that always seemed to land on someone's hair. Enchanted mistletoe hung in great balls and wreaths in various strategic places around the castle, though curiously they seemed to change location without anyone noticing. The Great Hall was festooned with thousands of larger-than-life, levitating snowflakes, their icy facets glinting and winking in the warm light of many hundreds of candles placed in the twelve huge Christmas trees lining the huge hall. To top it all, the weather-reflecting ceiling was living up to its name and making it snow gently above their heads, with nary a snowflake ever touching the ground.

Annabeth looked up at the sky and smiled at the beauty of it. It was a small, bright little smile which Percy loved and saw all too rarely.

She caught him staring and immediately arched an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Just thinking that you look beautiful," Percy replied easily.

Annabeth's cheeks turned pink, but she smiled again.

Unfortunately, their happy moment was soon to come to an end, for a little while later Annabeth glanced over at the Slytherin table and her brow creased very slightly.

Percy turned to look as well. For a second he couldn't see what had caused her expression, then he saw Piper talking animatedly to a blonde girl, gesturing with her hands every second or so. They both looked absorbed in their conversation. It was the first time Percy saw Piper mingling so naturally with her housemates, but also the first time Annabeth was showing displeasure at the idea.

"What?" he asked her.

Annabeth tilted her head to the side, and her expression was not one of disapproval, but confusion.

"Piper told me every single one of the Slytherins usually kept away from her." She murmured.

Percy shrugged.

"So? She made a friend. Good for her."

Annabeth threw him a pitying glance.

"Slytherins don't make friends, Percy. They make alliances."

Percy scowled.

"Why does everyone say that? I'm sure they _would_, given the chance. Look at Piper, she's great. I don't even know why she got sorted into Slytherin."

"Well, she wasn't raised one…." Annabeth said vaguely, her words drifting to an end without permission.

"But?" Percy prompted.

Annabeth didn't answer. Instead, she swung her legs over the bench and started marching over to the Slytherin table. Percy stared longingly at his bacon and eggs. With a sigh, he dropped his fork and followed her. What wouldn't he do for this girl?

Annabeth's clear and direct progress to the Slytherin table drew lots of stares, but none so much as when she actually plopped down next to Piper, followed by a Percy with his hands stuck in his pocket.

He nodded to the person nearest to him, a third-year boy with dark skin and wide eyes that would have given him a perpetually surprised look even if Percy and his girlfriend hadn't just broken unofficial protocol.

"Hey, how's it going?" Percy asked.

The boy just stared at him incredulously, then nodded back once.

Satisfied for the moment, Percy turned back to Annabeth. Baby steps, he reminded himself. This whole mission is being conducted on baby steps.

"Robyn, this is Annabeth and Percy," a slightly surprised Piper was saying, gesturing as the blonde girl stared at them, mouth slightly open.

"I'm Annie and you can call my girlfriend Perce," Percy volunteered, reaching out a hand to shake Robyn's.

The girl didn't move, either too surprised or too rigidly stuck to her house's reputation to react in kind. Luckily, Annabeth playfully swatted his hand away before things got too awkward, and she smiled at Robyn.

"Nice to meet you. I didn't know you were friends with Piper."

The girl glanced at Piper, who looked a little embarrassed.

"Actually, I was giving Robyn a helping hand." She said, glancing at her.

"Oh." Annabeth's gaze flicked between the two, calculating and gauging.

Percy sensed some sort of invisible exchange going on between the three girls, leaving him to wonder how long it was considered polite to stay somewhere he clearly weren't wanted.

"Piper was giving me some advice," Robyn stated, her voice crystal-cut, once the air had started turning thick again.

"She's very good at that," Annabeth said, smiling warmly at the daughter of Aphrodite, who ducked her head a little in embarrassment.

"Yes. That's why I came to her."

There was another short silence, during which several proverbial penguins and giraffes waddled by and camped there. Percy wondered if Annabeth was actually expecting to hear the precise why and what of the matter, but before she could ask any further questions it was Robyn who spoke.

"Well, I had better get going," she announced. "I have class anyway, but if I stay any longer I have a feeling Cal won't talk to me for a week."

The last part was addressed to Piper, who winced in sympathy.

"She still hates me, then?"

"Oh no," Robyn said absently, swinging the strap of her bag over her shoulder. "She just doesn't want anything to do with you."

She smiled at Piper, which seemed distinctly out of place for Percy. _Oh sure, my friend really doesn't like you, but all's good and let me smile like it doesn't matter_.

But Piper just returned the smile, and it was as warm as it always was.

Once Robyn had left, Annabeth and Percy fixed Piper with identical expressions of raised-eyebrow enquiry.

"We'd better get to class," was all she said, and she grabbed her bag from under the table to leave.

Stares followed the three of them as they left the Slytherin table and the Great Hall. Percy did his best to ignore them, but he couldn't help being angry. Why couldn't people walk, talk, and eat with the people they wanted here?

"So what was that all about?" Annabeth prompted as they hurried through the Charms corridor.

Piper sighed.

"Don't make me tell you, I made a promise."

"So you really are making friends with her?" Annabeth asked in surprise.

Piper threw her a narrow look.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Annabeth snorted.

"Oh please let's not play this game. I get why _you_ would make friends with _her_, it's kind of what you do. But the question is, why is she so willing? A week ago you were complaining about being the Slytherin pariah, now you're being buddies with someone who sounds like the queen?"

"All you need to know is that yes, whatever thing I have with Robyn is genuine, not motivated by self-interest." She hesitated. "Well, not exactly."

Annabeth sighed.

"See? You can't even be sure."

Piper looked upset.

"Why does it matter?" she retorted a little snappishly, then lowered her voice. "Are you telling me that every single conversation with Harry and his friends so far has been _purely_ for the sake of a mutual, uninterested friendship?"

"Thinking about it, you even made friends with _me_ because you were curious about the drama at the time," Percy commented idly to Annabeth, earning a scathing look from her.

But she bit her lip and ducked her head slightly.

"Sorry," she said, "I've no right to judge."

"No," Piper agreed, "None of us do."

"But we have to remember to be careful, Pipes," Annabeth continued, more gently. "We're going to make as many enemies as we make friends here."

Piper snorted.

"You think I don't know that?"

"No, but the risk-"

Piper came to a halt in her steps.

"Will you shut _up_ about the risks, Annabeth?" she said angrily, surprising Percy. "_All. The damn. Time._ You think I don't know that every word I say to Robyn is ten times as dangerous as a whole conversation with Harry? You think I don't know that I'm surrounded by people who watch my every step? That approaching _those_ students is more dangerous than your precious little golden boy? That every single frickin' move I make can backfire on either side?" Piper's rainbow eyes sparked, and her voice, sharp and dry as a whip with anger, dropped to a whisper. "So don't lecture me about risk. Because, so far as I can see, we _exist_ through risk, and these days _you're_ not the one taking any."

Her face flushed, chest heaving, Piper held Annabeth's shocked gaze for a few seconds before turning on her heel and hurrying off to her class alone.

Percy turned to Annabeth, opened his mouth, then realised how much he liked being alive and shut it again.

"You can say it," Annabeth said dully after a while. "I'm a jerk."

"You're not a jerk." Percy said immediately. "But you're worried, tired, stressed, fed-up, and so is she, and that makes it easier to forgive you."

Annabeth half-heartedly pushed his arm, then rubbed her face.

"What's this mission doing to me, Percy?" she asked quietly. "I don't feel like me anymore."

"You're consumed with the fact that whatever kind of mission this is shaping up to be, it's not the kind we'll be able to just walk away from like we usually do, and that any mistake we make can be fatal. This is long-term, Wise Girl. The only things you need to be are here, and mine." Percy said, putting his arm around here. "Don't worry about the rest for now. As you can see," he gestured after Piper, "we've got it covered. We can do our own worrying."

* * *

*_Awkward and unsatisfactory ending stumbles and executes a kind of 'ta-da', reasons for which are explained below_*

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Hello! Bet you weren't expecting an update after so long :-/**

**Unfortunately, you'd have been partly right. This is my last update for a while – and by that I mean there's a chance this story might go on permanent-ish hiatus. My history degree demands 30+ hours of reading a week, plus lectures and seminars and… ugh. Basically, I've had to put a halt to writing this (academic) year. I hate 2017 already, if that can sufficiently express my feelings on the matter.**

**Which is why this one's short, sorry about that. It's actually been written for a while, I'd just never gotten round to finishing it. This is my paltry attempt at a peace-offering: that way you get every single piece of material I've written for this story (apart from rough notes) and maybe you can write your own ending!**

**Ooo, there's an idea. If you'd like to write a sequel, let me know, we can work something out.**

**Anyway, some answers to reviews:**

**Trinity Rebel: Yeah, yeah, I know that :-) **** I meant the wizarding minister. I'm not following the canon version of historical events: JKR has released a lot of new, brilliant material, but it's too late for me to respect it completely.**

**WonderGirl: Um… I don't think Draco and Nico will end up together at all, no. My word, did I really write them like that? Woops. Also, you guessed correctly. Your idea concerning the holidays aligned with my initial plans for the nine, but now, with the whole hiatus thing… we'll see. Thanks for the sheer volume of ideas you've thrown my way – I've said it before and I'll say it again: you should be the one writing this story!**

**MelodyDaughterOfHecate: Sorry :-/ One of those things I had to tweak for the story to flow better.**

**DarthDestroyer2: … Not entirely sure I understood your comment about the blood cells thing. Sorry if your mate found it boring! Just felt like I needed to justify a risky conclusion I'd made. Apart from that, thanks for all the feedback! And… you may have uncovered a plot twist I had in mind for the prophecy ;-)**

**Thank you to all those (a surprising number) who messaged me really supportive stuff about the book I'm writing. I promise I'll find a way to send the first chapter/draft to those who asked. I also promise the writing will be a hell of a lot better than what you've got on here *cringes at first half of the chapters*.**

**In any case, adieu mes amis, I hope to return to this fic one day!**

**Much love,**

**Stel.**

**PS: the Latin title, Ad Honoris Causam, means "For the sake of honour", or something similar. You would not **_**believe**_** the difference between ecclesiastical Latin, Cicero-style Latin and Celsus-style Latin. **


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